


Stir it Up

by WerepuppyBlack



Series: Tear it Up [2]
Category: Charmed, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-04
Updated: 2011-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-26 20:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 51,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WerepuppyBlack/pseuds/WerepuppyBlack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Tear it Up. The war in the magical community is slowly seeping into the muggle one, and the strands are all converging. Chris Halliwell is still stuck right in the middle, but where do his loyalties really lie?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally post at fanfiction.net on 20th Feburary 2009.

"Up, left, right, down, left, up, block," the monotone robotic voice of the trainer spoke out. "Drop!" he added, yelling at his student, who wasn't complying quickly enough with his instructions., Of course, it didn't help that his sparring partner was better at this than him, and as a result, he found himself getting hit in the ribs, which caused him to drop to the ground, curling slightly in pain.

"Enough," Wyatt voice's echoed in the room, as the seasoned fighter kicked the prone figure, moving to kick him again. "I said ENOUGH," he bellowed, making both the trainer and the fighter stand down, even if the standing down did appear to be extremely reluctant. A small groan gave from the figure on the ground.

"'Bout fuckin' time…" Chris muttered lightly, still curled into a ball, wincing at the pain he felt, mostly in his ribs, his eyes closed. He wondered lightly if he had actually broken anything this time, remembering the fractured wrist he had only a few days before, that was, before it had been magically healed by a demon who had a particular talent for re-setting bones. He could hear a soft sniffling at his head, and opened one eyes to see Dog standing over him, nudging at his head in concern. He managed a weak smile, letting out another groan of pain.

"That hellhound is much too docile," Wyatt commented, looking at Dog with an annoyed glint in his eyes. "You should have given it a better name than Dog," he added, a scowl appearing on his face as he said the name. Chris rolled his eyes, leaning slightly on Dog to sit up.

"Because that's the glaringly obvious issue here," he remarked, getting to his feet, stumbling only a little. These sessions really took it out of him, and as much as he would have loved to go back to his wing and collapse on the really very comfortable bed, he knew it was impossible. Thanks to Wyatt's quick thinking, and determination that Chris would be an expert fighter before the first month of the holidays was out, he had cursed Chris with being constantly awake, until such times as he saw fit to remove the spell. Which wasn't appearing to be any time soon. Chris wasn't sure if this would count as a kind act from his brother, or a particularly cruel one.

"Don't talk back," Wyatt snapped at his brother. He then turned to face him, catching sight of him stumbling again. Obviously these training sessions were taking more out of Chris than he had previously assumed they would. He gave a soft tut, and moved to the door of the training room, to where one of his guards was standing watch. "Fetch Severus and tell him we need to his best healing potion," he informed the guard, "Lord Christopher needs it." The guard nodded, walking away. Wyatt turned back to face Chris, who had made his way over to collapse face first into a pile of mats, Dog nudging his Master with what appeared to be an amused look. Wyatt shook his head, leaving the room, as Chris groaned once more.

His sparring partner made his way over to him. "I apologise Lord Christopher…" he began, not sounding apologetic in the least, before Chris interrupted him, sounding deeply annoyed. Which, quite frankly, he was.

"It's Chris, just Chris," he said, rolling over so that he faced the one he had been fighting with. "Call me Lord Christopher and … well ... I'm not quite sure yet on what it'll be, but something bad will happen to you," he warned him cheerfully. The boy nodded. Chris frowned. "Do … do I know you from somewhere other than here?" he asked, blinking at the boy, who gave a lopsided smile.

"We go to Hogwarts together," he answered. "I'm in your year, though, I'm in Slytherin House, not Gryffindor," he added. Chris nodded, before wincing in pain, and making a mental note not to move until the healing potion showed up.

"So what's your name anyway?" he asked, looking at the boy curiously. He was rather stringy looking, tall and thin, nothing that hinted at his skill and strength. There was a sharp look about his face, that hinted at something more than what he possibly wanted to let on.

"Theodore," he told Chris. "Theodore Nott. Most people call me Theo," he shrugged, apparently just adding the information for the sake of adding it. Chris raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah," he said, dragging the word out to show his disinterest. "I'm just gonna call ya Nott, alright with that?" he asked. Theodore shrugged again, not particularly bothered with what people decided to call him, as long as it wasn't something ridiculously like 'Teddy.' Chris frowned, trying to recall whereabouts in Hogwarts it was that he recognised Nott from, before he paused, eyes widening slightly. He pushed himself round into a sitting position, and looked directly at the other boy. "You can see Thestrals."

"No shit Sherlock," Nott muttered quickly, resisting the strong urge to roll his eyes. He then paled, realising just what he had said, and who he had said it to. "I apologise once more, My Lord … " he began quickly, only to notice that Chris was grinning.

"Thank fuck someone round here's not all stiff upper lip an' all that shit," Chris remarked. "Can't stand it," he told Nott. "So you say whatever the hell you like 'round me, I'm not gonna do anything to you for it."

Nott blinked. " … Seriously?"

"Did I freakin' stutter?" Chris said, scratching behind Dog's ear, not looking up at Nott.

"Was just asking," Nott responded. "Not used to the whole 'free speech' thing with you evil overlords," he said with a side grin. "Works greatly in favour of the Malfoy family, not so much with me though. I tend to see the glaring stupidity in a lot that's done around here." Chris looked up at this, interested.

"You don't get on with the Billy Idol wannabe?" he asked, seeing this as his entrance into finding out about Nott's way of thinking, and what he saw as being glaring stupid with the way his brother and Voldemort were running things. "Thought he was the Slytherin Prince?"

"Like Potter's the Gryffindor Golden Boy?" Nott countered quickly, looking at Chris through narrowed eyes.

"…Point taken," Chris said, after a few moments of silence. "Even though I'm pretty much the only one in my House who has a thing against Wonder Boy," he added quickly, "but seriously … you don't get on with him?" he asked again, watching as Nott leant over and patted Dog, shrugging his shoulders lightly.

"Not through my Father's want of trying," he admitted eventually. "And I do try, for my Father's sake … but Draco's too filled with his own superiority to be even the tiniest bit amusing, or interesting to have as a friend," he said. "He thinks himself clever, and has surrounded himself with people who aren't as smart as him to fuel this belief."

Chris looked at Nott, a smirk crawling on to his lips. "And, of course, you're smart enough to see through all of this?" Nott nodded, before pausing, looking round at Chris with an open mouth, a slight frown on his face. Chris laughed. "We're all prone to the whole ego thing, but I agree with you," he said. "Casper really is up his own ass."

Nott gave a quick laugh. "He's been worse than usual lately," he told Chris, "what with his being allowed to receive the Dark Mark earlier than usual." Chris frowned, considering this.

"Yeah," he said, "wonder what the deal is with that?" he mused out loud, still thinking over the matter. Nott shrugged slightly. "Are you jealous?" Chris asked, "about him gaining entrance to the inner circle early?" Nott was silent for a few moments.

"No," he answered sincerely, frowning as he did so, as though he didn't quite understand why he wasn't jealous. "All good things come to those who wait after all," he added, though it was apparent that he wasn't quite sure that this was the case.

"Do you want to be a Death Eater?" Chris asked, staring at Nott who had suddenly found the floor to be extremely interesting. There was no reply, as Nott continued to stare the floor determinedly. By this point Dog had wandered off in search of food, so he couldn't distract himself by fussing the hellhound. "Nott," Chris said, "do you want to be a Death Eater?"

"My Lord, I've brought you the healing potion," Snape said, entering the room holding a smoking goblet. "I had just finished brewing a fresh batch, suspecting that due to these sessions you may be in need of it." He looked between the two boys. "My apologises my Lord, I had not realised you were in some form of meeting." Nott muttered something quickly under his breath, pushing past the teacher and leaving the room.

"Can it Severus," Chris muttered, taking the goblet from him. Pausing to brace himself against the foul tasting liquid, he raised the goblet to his lips, downing the potion in one. He closed his eyes, shaking slightly. There really was no way to brace yourself for that awful taste, but the potion did its job, and he began to feel the pain lessening, to a point where he could move around - slowly, but at least he could move.

"My Lord … what were you speaking about with Nott?" Snape couldn't help but ask. It was justified on his part, considering that throughout the past year at school he had seen Christopher ignore all the Hogwarts students whose families were loyal to his brother, preferring to interact with those on the side of the Order. Of course, Snape was aware that this was a sign of Chris' great talent at deception, playing the Order into believing that he was willing to betray his own brother, lying to them about everything. Which didn't quite explain why he was also lying to Lord Wyatt …

"Is it important for you to know every little detail about my private conversations Sev?" Chris asked. "If it is, I'm pretty sure I didn't get sent the memo informing me of that," he said, glaring at the man, who bowed in respectful manner.

"My apologises, my Lord."

"Everyone is saying that to me today," Chris remarked, "I still don't like hearing it."

 **XXX**

"Chris? Stop pretending you're asleep, I know you're not."

"Fuck off Wyatt!" Chris grumbled into his pillow, pulling another one over the top of his head. He felt exhausted, but thanks to the spell he couldn't sleep, so he had decided that he would simply refuse to go to any of his training sessions unless Wyatt lifted the spell. So far, nothing had happened. "I'm not coming out so just … just fuck off."

"My, but you're articulate today," Wyatt commented dryly. "And I will not fuck off. It's the ceremony tonight to formally welcome the new Death Eaters to the fold, and for those entering the inner circle to receive their Dark Marks," he told Chris. "And, as Lord Christopher Victor Perry, you have to be present."

"…Who the hell gave you permission to you my whole name Wyatt Matthew?" Chris shot, crawling out from under his pillow. Wyatt scowled lightly at his brother. "And why do I have to be present? It's just gonna irritate people that someone who isn't even of legal age in the magical community is considered higher up than them." Wyatt just looked. "…Not gonna get me out of this is it?"

"Nope."

"You're planning on doing something horrible to me unless I get ready aren't you?"

"Yup."

Chris considered the options that were available to him, but sadly, there weren't that many of them. He scowled. "I'll go put on my best suit on shall I?" he said, forcing on a pleasant smile. Wyatt cast a cold eye over him.

"That would be for the best," he responded coldly. "Even Sidney is dressing in her finest…"

"Oh your little fuck buddy," Chris said, "almost forgot about her. Pity the taste in guys really, she's bearable otherwise." Wyatt glared at this, though Chris wasn't entirely sure why. It was true what he said, Sid was simply there to 'entertain' Wyatt, having none of either of her parents' talent with a wand. True, she knew some decidedly wicked curses that she could cast to some degree, but there was none of 'flair' for it that her parents had. She was a particularly good temptress however, but that was through the luck of genetics. There was no real feeling from Wyatt towards her, at least not feeling that she may have hoped for. Chris sometimes wondered if there was enough human qualities left in his brother to even consider those type of feelings.

"Get ready Christopher," Wyatt said finally, a slight twitching in his cheek. "The ceremony begins in an hour, and I want you present. And no," he said, "you have no choice in the matter." Chris threw a mocking salute at his older brother's back as he left the room, sitting for a few moments before pushing himself off his bed, deciding that he might as well go along with him for once.

He wandered over to another door, stepping through it into an elaborate walk-in closet. "Only the best for a ruling Lord," he muttered softly, staring at the suit section with a sense of confusion. His usual day to day wear wasn't anything special, just long sleeved tops and jeans, but they were comfortable and he was happy enough with them. He hadn't worn a suit since his Grandpa's funeral, and that wasn't a day he particularly wanted to remember. He sighed, reaching in and grabbing the nearest suit - plain black, with a matching black shirt. "Really big on the black down here," he noted bitterly. But he changed into the suit, noticing that he appeared to have put on a bit more weight, as when he breathed in deeply, it was no longer the case that he could count all his ribs.

After the hour had passed, Chris was down in the main room of Wyatt's headquarters, which was lit only by candles, to mark the importance of this sombre occasion. Chris just found it to be completely pretentious, making them all out to be something better than what they were. He wasn't entirely sure about Voldemort's aim to destroy all muggle-born witches and wizards, and enslave the muggles. After all, he and Wyatt had been raised in a mix of the muggle culture, and the magical community, and they had turned out reasonably stable - as Chris doubted his own mental state, which seem to fluctuate based on his mood, was what one could call 'normal.'

The followers of Voldemort and Wyatt piled into the room, dressed in what Chris assumed were their 'finest.' Something that made Chris suddenly very grateful for the fact he could get away with a suit. They stood on a lower level to them, with Chris, Wyatt and Voldemort being elevated above them slightly. ' _The idiots, and those who keep them stupid,_ ' Chris thought for a moment, considering the appearance of it.

Then the ceremony started

 **XXX**

"Well that was the most boring bag of shit I've ever had to sit through," Chris said, dropping himself into a chair after the ceremony was over and a celebration party was taking place. "Even worse than listening to Umbitch," he added, running his fingers through his hair, which felt heavy with smoke. "Don't suppose I'm allowed an actual drink now?"

"No," was Wyatt's only response.

"No, of course not," Chris muttered, sinking down in the seat slightly. He looked up, noticing his brother's frown, as he sat down in the seat opposite him. "Wy?" he called, wondering what had him in such deep through. "What's eating you man?"

"This plan of Thomas'," Wyatt said, before looking up. "You know of it I'm assuming?" Chris shrugged.

"I listened in at the door with an Extendable Ear when he was going over it with you," he said without shame. Wyatt blinked, having not expected that detailed an answer but brushed the matter off. "What about it?"

"Can you see any failings in it?" Wyatt asked casually. Chris frowned, thinking it through.

"A few," he responded equally as casually. "You want me to keep an eye on it?" he hazarded a guess, knowing that Wyatt wouldn't really have mentioned it otherwise. "Or y'know, take over if it gets to a worrying point?"

"No," Wyatt said quickly, "no, I don't think either will be necessary," he added in a slower manner, still considering the manner at great length. "I think in this instance it would be more productive for us to simply watch it play out," he let out a laughed, a devious smirk slowly appearing on his face. "I think it will be very entertaining." Chris stared for a few moments, before slowly nodding. There was noise of a stumbling, and he looked up to see Sid appear at the door. Wyatt turned to look at her, giving her the briefest of nods, before standing up. "I think I'll say goodnight now Chris, try to do something productive tonight," he said. "Practice what you learned in your session earlier," he suggested, leaving the room.

Chris stared at the door for a few minutes, not surprised to see Dog pad into the room. His hellhound had taken a great dislike to Wyatt, and would most often show up when he wasn't around. Chris let out a huge breath, leaning his head backwards. "So," he muttered softly, recalling the situation to himself and informing Dog as well. "We have a too far promoted Ferret Boy who's been handed a sucide mission which will only increase his own assumed superiority. We also have a Slytherin with a little too much intelligence to be one of this lot, and who might not actually want to be a Death Eater like his daddy dearest," his head came forward at this point, staring at Dog as though he would have all the answer. Dog cocked his head to the side, watching his master intently.

"It's gonna be an … interesting year."


	2. Chapter 2

"You know," Nott said, sounding deeply annoyed. "Out of all the ideas you've had, or are ever likely to have, I'm pretty sure this one is going to rank up there as the single most stupid idea in the history of the world," he paused, "ever."

"...Man, you worry way too much," Chris remarked, staring at Nott with an amused expression on his face. "Just relax, it'll be fine."

"One of us needs to worry, since you're obviously throwing all caution to the wind." Nott shot back quickly, before sighing, pushing a few stray strands of hair back out of his eyes. "I just really don't think you're being here is going to be helpful at all, you  _are_  Lord Wyatt's younger brother," he pointed out. "You're in danger."

"Am I fuck," Chris said, rolling his eyes. "I've been running back and forth right under Gan... Dumbledork's nose and he's still to realise I'm feeding him bullshit." He rolled his eyes once more, not quite being able to work out whether he should feel pleased by this situation, or annoyed. Either result would make his missions more complicated, and yet they would make them easier at the same time. It was round about the time that he had this little epiphany that Chris began to wonder when exactly his life had become such a walking contradiction.

"But this isn't the old man," Nott said, "it's the full blown American Rebellion, or are they calling themselves the Resistance these days?" he asked, in genuine wonderment. Chris shrugged, not really knowing the answer himself.

"Nott, we both know that outta all the people working for my brother, I'm the natural infiltrator," Chris shrugged slightly. "Wy knows, s'why he chose to send me on this particular little trip of a lifetime." He looked up, studying the door to the Resistance's headquarters that little more carefully. It was a plain warehouse on the surface, but Chris could, or more to the point, his whitelighter half could, sense the magic emanating from it. Obviously the witches on this side had more common sense that his brother chose to give them credit for.

"What's up with that?" Nott asked. "After the whole thing at the Ministry last summer, I would have thought that..."

"You thought wrong," Chris cut in, his tone sharp. "What happened last summer, it was a fluke," he said. "Umbitch got lucky, that's all it was. Nothing else, and Wy knows that."

"Oh really?" Nott asked, an eyebrow raised. "That why he sent you a pet hellhound after she worked out exactly who you were?" he asked, sounding amused. Chris scowled deeply, wacking Nott on the shoulder sharply. "Okay, okay," Nott said, rubbing at his shoulder with a grimace. "I get it, don't question the workings of the Halliwell brothers. Therein lies pain."

"Glad to see you've cottoned on to that little golden nugget," Chris said in his smarmiest tone of voice, a sickly sweet smirk clear on his face. He turned to face the door of the headquarters once more, eyes narrowing as he studied the door as carefully as he could from their position. "Is it just me, or does it seem a little too quiet round here?"

"Now that you come to mention it, yeah, does a bit," Nott agreed, nodding his head slightly. "I'm highly doubting that they've all just stepped out to the toilet," he remarked dryly. Chris shrugged.

"I've seen stranger," he pointed out casually, moving forward towards the door. "I think, well, I'm pretty sure it's gonna be safe for us to just go in."

"...And you're not just saying that because secretly you have a death wish and plan to drag me along with you?" Chris turned to glare at Nott, who held up his hands in an admittance of defeat. "Okay, okay. But if we die, I'm haunting you man."

 **xXx**

The headquarters of the American Resistance was a miserable place, with a sense of depression and apathy hanging in the air. Chris and Nott found themselves standing in the middle of the deserted corridor, standing on scraps of paper which contained - from what Chris could make out - some form of attack plans. "Why would they leave them on the floor?" he asked Nott, who could only shrug in response.

They moved through the corridor slowly, mostly as Chris became aware that the step up of the corridor would be a perfect bluff for an attack, and was almost willing it to happen as any other alternative seemed a little too ... well he chose not to go there. "Bit too quiet," Nott said, his voice sounding too loud in the silence. Chris shot him a glare, opening a door to his left. It opened out into a large hall, in which was ... completely deserted.

"What the hell is going on here?"

"They've given up."

"Demon dude say what?" Chris turned to look at Cole. Somehow it didn't really surprise him to come across the man at this place, but that didn't mean he had any appreciation for the fact that he basically flamed out of nowhere. Or, as the case seemed, that he was stalking him again.

"The Resistance," Cole shrugged his shoulders lightly. "A few weeks ago, when it came out that Voldemort had returned to power." Nott frowned.

"They're scared of The Dark Lord, but not the Source of All Evil?" he questioned, sounding confused. "That really doesn't make any sense ... Professor," he added, remembering at the last minute that Cole was technically a teacher at Hogwarts, even if he didn't really teach a class. Chris rolled his eyes, turning to look at Nott with a withering glare.

"Call me crazy," he said, "but I don't think that's the point of what Cole's trying to tell us. It's not, right?" he asked, turning to face Cole once more.

"Gold star for the over-confident kid," Cole said dryly. "But there's part of what ... erm ... Nott is it?" Nott nodded, as did Cole in response. "Well, there's part of what he said in it as well," he said. "On his own, they didn't fear the Source. Well, they did fear him, but they knew that on his own, with only demons for backup, well they had a chance then. Granted, not much of a chance, but there still was on." He sighed slightly. "When it came out he had teamed up with the wizard who had the entire British magical community too scared to even try saying his name?" he shrugged again. "This place was emptied the week the news came out."

Chris paled, swallowing nervously and looking around with panic in his eyes. "But they can't have just given up!" he said, running to open the other doors in the corridor. Nott frowned, making to move forward but stopped when Cole put his hand on his shoulder, shaking his head slightly, eyes trained on Chris. "Since when do these guys just freakin' give up?It's ..." he stopped, looking at the ground and frowning.

"Chris?" Nott called. "Isn't this ... well isn't this the result we want?" he asked, sounding unsure of it himself. If he was being truthful, he would admit to have a sharp stab of fear shoot through his stomach on hearing it. If they only had the Order to rely on - because since when was the Ministry actually any good at this sort of thing - then ... He shook his head sharply, he was a soon to be Death Eater, for Salazar's sake! Shouldn't this news be joyous to him?

"No," Chris said. "It's not. But don't dare tell my brother I said that," he added, sighing once more, moving to roll up his sleeves. Cole frowned at the sight of a white bandage on his left forearm, noting that he'd never seen it before. Of course, truth be told, in the time that he had been 'protecting' Chris, he had never seen the teenager in anything other than long sleeves.

"Chris?" he questioned, pointing to the bandage. Chris looked down at it, staring for a few minutes, before looking back up at Cole.

"Of course it is," he answered Cole's unasked question. "But it was my own choice, and I have my reasons," he explained. Nott looked between the pair, somewhat confused but with the inkling that yet again, this was one of these things that it was better for him not to ask about. "Right," Chris said, smirking slightly, a clear sign that he had managed to scrape together some sort of plan. "First things first." he said, turning to look directly at Nott. "We learned some things that change my plan, and now I have to send you back, the memory of this time less than intact, I would apologise but needs must, man," he chanted, thrusting his hand forward and orbing Nott back to the Death Eater lair.

"Not exactly the best of spells," Cole commented lightly. Chris looked.

"I'm an expert potion maker, and, also? I can kill you with my brain," he remarked, referencing his control of fire with a wry smile. "Creating spells on the hop is just one of my rare weak points," he added. "I don't plan for it to become common knowledge." He coughed slightly, looking around the room with careful thought. "Get me ... the Marks family," he said slowly, still thinking it out, "Billie Jenkins ... that Drake still hanging around?" he asked. Cole thought for a minute.

"I know where I can find him," he responded.

"Get him then, and anyone else you can think of. See if you can even rustle up my dear Barbas," he told Cole. "Insane or not, he's still one of the most powerful demons around, and he just happens to not grovel at the Source's feet. Get anyone else you can think of, but leave Zankou where we locked him, alright?" He paused, looking around once more. "Look, mention my name if you have to I mean, if that's what it's gonna take," he said. "Just make sure NONE of this gets back to Wyatt."

"You're planning to rebuild the Resistance?" Cole asked.

"For starters," Chris replied.

 **xXx**

"You're late back."

"I am not late back, nor am I back early," Chris said. "I am back at precisely the time I decided that I personally would be back at," he turned to looked at Wyatt. "As, stop me if I'm wrong here **,** but I think I'm right in guessing that you're referring to the fact that Nott showed up here about three, maybe four, hours ago, with no memory of what just happened?"

"I don't think I even need to ask how you know all this," Wyatt said, "as you always do manage to find out even unnecessary points of information," he rolled his eyes. "Go on then, the report on the state of the Resistance."

"Bit better than what we thought," Chris shrugged. "I mean, they got the jump on me and Nott and memory wiped him," he said. "Just my luck that my orbing reaction is quicker than Superman."

"You shouldn't really take pride in that Chris," Wyatt said. "Orbing out of a battle is a sign of weakness after all," he pointed out. Chris rolled his eyes.

"Seems to me that it's on the side of the clever to orb out when they're attacking you, which'll, with any luck, disorientate them. Then all I have to do is orb back in and whack," he said, "game's over and full points to me."

"Do you ever listen to what you come out with, or do you just open your mouth and let it all spill out?" Wyatt wondered out loud, looking at his brother with a slight sense of amusement. "I take it they're a threat then?"

"Depends on what you look at as a threat," Chris said. "I find them fun to be honest," he admitted with a grin. "Bit of light battles to break up the day, always fun."

"You have an odd sense of fun," Wyatt pointed out, leaning back in his chair as this would further prove his point. "Perhaps you need a girlfriend," he added, ducking as a cushion went soaring his way, aiming for his head. "Don't throw a cushion at me," he said, rolling his eyes slightly, "it's so very childish."

"While you are the very model of picturesque maturity," Chris commented dryly. "Act like a teenager for once in your life, it's not gonna kill you, y'know."

"I am a leader Chris," Wyatt said. "I can't be seen to be acting younger than the people I am in command of." He paused, and Chris frowned, knowing that his brother was holding back from saying something important. Of course, as bad luck would dictate it, Voldemort chose that moment to enter the room.

"My Lord," he said to Wyatt, bowing lowly. Chris found himself rolling his eyes once more.

"Listen, Wy, if snake boy here is gonna chat, I'm splitting," he shrugged slightly. "Got things to do and I've got another session so I might as well go to it." He glared at his brother slightly. "Not like I can do anything productive, like, oh, let's say, sleep?" He gave a wry smile, waving his hand vaguely over his shoulder as he left the room.

"He is particularly grouchy today," Wyatt said to Voldemort. "Perhaps I should think of removing the sleep spell," he wondered out loud. "He never seems to work at his best when deprived of sleep, and he's not eating as much again," he sighed slightly. "He's losing weight again just after regaining it," he muttered, a sliver of concern slipping into his tone.

"My Lord, forgive my remark," Voldemort began, bowing again to stave off any attack that might come his way, "but it sounds more like you have the concern of a parent, than of say, a boss for an employee?" Wyatt looked over at Voldemort with a glare that reminded the older wizard just why it was that he was currently following this boy.

"Of course I have the concern of a parent for my younger brother," Wyatt snapped at him, looking towards the door his brother had just left through. "We're all each other's got, after all. Someone needs to look after him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Chapter Notes: Okay, so here we have finally the second chapter of Stir it Up. I apologise for it being shorter than my usual, but I kind of lost inspiration for this chapter after my laptop died, making me lose the original version of this chapter which was almost finished. However, I got my inspiration back and typed up this version, which is a little better than the original, though without this one good point of humour, sadly. Ah well, on we go with the chapter and you can decide for yourself


	3. Chapter 3

"So, where exactly did you get the cool and lethal looking dagger," Chris asked, walking into the room and being distracted by the glint of the dagger, "and where, pray tell, might your little brother lay his digits on one like it?" He shot what he hoped was a charming smile over at Wyatt, who rolled his eyes at his actions.

"It was a gift," Wyatt replied, sounding deeply bored with the world - never a good sign, "from the God of War." Chris frowned in concentration, which caused Wyatt to roll his eyes, yet again. It was beginning to be a bit of a habit for the teenaged Source of All Evil. "When the Titians reappeared when we were children. Remember I cast a spell and brought the Greek Gods forward to our time?"

"I remember the time yeah," Chris said, before frowning once more, trying to remember the incident a bit more clearly. He had to be missing something here. "Just don't remember Ares slapping cool weapons on us, he'd piss Mom off a lot more than he'd already did," he added as an afterthought. It was funny, the memory of seeing the God of War cower in obvious terror from an incredibly pissed off Piper Halliwell. Chris always knew his mother could get anyone doing as she told them, but it was nice to have visual proof of it once in his life. "So he got a heart and left you a present? Sweet," Chris commented, sarcasm highly evident in his tone. "Obviously he wanted to win the favour of the world's most powerful magical user." Wyatt couldn't help but smirk.

"Jealously does not become you little brother," he said, looking up from the dagger which he was twirling in his fingers, and over to Chris. "You're showing your inferiority complex yet again," he smirked, a glint in his eyes that suggested that he wanted Chris - at least, at this moment in time - to think himself inferior. Chris bit back the insults he wanted to throw at his brother. "I expect Ares sensed the power, and wanted to provide something that would be useful to me," Wyatt suggested, in a tone that gave the impression that he knew that was the reasoning behind the gift. Chris frowned, the phrase striking something in his mind, a memory that he had almost all but forgotten. "So, what did you want me for?" Wyatt asked quickly, storing the dagger away in an inside pocket of his jacket.

Chris shook himself out of his thoughts, looking up at Wyatt with confusion in his eyes, before blinking. "Oh, um, yeah, I was, I was gonna go visit Grandpa's grave. Wondered if you wanted to go with?" he asked, looking up at Wyatt with misplaced hope. Deep down, he knew that of course his brother wouldn't want to go and visit their grandfather's grave. Wyatt looked to the ground, and Chris nodded. "No, course not, stupid of me to ask really," he muttered.

"I have things to be getting on with," Wyatt said, standing and exiting from the room. "Take your Hellhound with you," he called back over his shoulder, "he seems to be bored with being cooped up all the time."

"Was plannin' on taking Dog anyway," Chris muttered, looking down at the floor with a venom that it didn't deserve in the slightest, "better company than you any day."

 **xXx**

After visiting Victor's grave - at which he most definitely did not cry, even if his eyes were prickling madly - Chris decided to take a detour to the Manor, pick up some money he had set aside to get new sneakers, and have a look in the attic for something. The sensation of not quite remembering something, but knowing it was a true memory was still itching in his mind, and he had the strongest suspicion that he would find the answer in the attic. It was were he'd found all the answers he needed before.

"I got your message," Cole called to Chris, leaning against the front door of the Manor. Chris smirked up at him, pulling out his key and opening the door. He was always surprised at the lack of trouble with the door, he would have placed money on the hinges needing oiled or something like that. He muttered softly as he entered the Manor, causing the lights to come on as well as the heating. "Magically cheating your way out of paying the bills?" Cole sounded oddly impressed.

"It's something to do, considering I can't access the money the businesses are making," Chris said, pausing and frowning, "my businesses," he corrected himself. "That the powers that be for legal loopholes and the exploitation of them," he laughed. Cole allowed himself a soft chuckle, still keeping a wary eye on Chris. It was getting to a point where Cole was almost positive he had worked the youngest Halliwell out completely.

What he had worked out … it scared him.

"So, you said you were planning on raiding the attic?" Cole said, moving his mind quickly. "Any reason in particular, of did you just wake up with the urge to rake through old boxes?" he commented. Chris began walking up the stairs, a look of concentrated thought on his face. There was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, a sign that he was fighting back a well worded retort. Granted, only a few people were, close wasn't the word but it fitted, enough to Chris to realise that, as he wasn't exactly in the habit of letting people work out his mannerisms. Possibly why he always seemed to be constantly changing, albeit somewhat subtly.

"There's a reason," Chris replied evenly. "You were in that void when this happened, but it was when the Titans re-attacked," he paused, wondering if that wording best put forward his meaning, but shrugging it off. "I mean, the first time just let the earth swallow them, it worked," he said, "but no one figured on them being able to cause an earthquake and free themselves."

"Inventive people," Cole noted. Chris rolled his eyes, walking along the hallway which led to the attic. Cole followed behind him, still unsure what it was Chris was actually looking for, but he knew it had something to do with the story he was recalling to him. "So, what happened? After they managed to free themselves?"

"Wyatt brought the original Greek Gods and Goddesses forward in time," Chris said, standing in front of the attic door, his hand hovering over the handle. "He was on a bit of a mythology kick at the time, so it didn't take much for him to connect the Titans Mom and our Aunts were facing with the ones in his books," he explained, still not opening the door. Cole considered him carefully, warily.

"… Want me to open it?" he asked, as kindly as he could, but managing to keep it in that safe area in which Chris wouldn't try to blow his head up.

"I can do it," Chris growled back, turning the handle and pushing the door opened. The hinges squeaked slightly, showing their age and how long it had been since they'd been oiled, or at least tended to in some way. He walked into the attic quickly, not daring the linger on the threshold. He didn't, as Cole had half expected him to, walk over to the window - where the Book of Shadows still sat, a layer of dust covering it - but instead over to a pile of boxes, kneeling in front of them and studying them carefully.

Cole wandered over to the Book, staring at it, a dull stab of pain in his lower gut. He should have expected that at least, but it was odd that it didn't hurt as much as it normally did. The Book sat on its perch, looking decidedly unmagical, as though it were nothing more than an elaborate family keepsake. Which, he supposed, was true as well. Though he doubted any of the Halliwell woman would be proud of calling their precious Book that. He listened as Chris rummaged through the boxes, noting when the noise died that he seemed to have found what he was looking for.

Chris sat, holding the wooden box in his hands. It wasn't a large box, and there were no ornate carvings on it, nothing to suggest the power he could feel from it. And he wasn't quite sure why he was able to feel power, he'd never been in possession of that particular ability before. He suspected it was an old magic, but that still didn't explain why he could feel it. Shaking the thought out of his head, he opened the box. Laying on top of a silk covering was a yellowing piece of paper. Frowning slightly, Chris moved so he was leaning against some of the larger and fuller cardboard boxes, unfolding the paper to read it.

 _To Chris,_

 _As cliché as the saying may be by your time, I'm pretty sure that if you're reading this letter, well then, I'm sorry for your loss. I suspected that you'll take those words at face value, but I do mean them. Your mother was a hell of a woman, and I respected her for that in my short time knowing her. Even though I was highly embarrassed by what she made me do: Gods of War are not babysitters. But that's not the point of this letter. I'm not sure if there is actually a proper point, but I felt the need to write it, if only to explain what it is I've given to you, and exactly why it is I've gifted this to you._

 _By now I suspect that Wyatt would have come across the gift I left him through the means of his own impressive magic. A dagger of infamy, said to be able to slay the gods themselves. But by your time it won't really have that great an effect anymore, and I doubt Wyatt will show enough initiative to research the dagger. If he proves me wrong … oops? It still shouldn't matter much anyway, witches and angels - to simply it - aren't exactly in the same league as the original targets for the dagger. Though you and your brother do come close. Which brings me, in an abstract way, to what I'm giving you. And believe me, I am not doing this out of the 'goodness of my heart' or whatever maudlin phrase you might try to apply. It just suits my nature to hand out items that would help to create a rather interesting battle. So, to what is in the box._

 _If you care to remove the covering, you'll discover a pair of gauntlets. These gauntlets are a pair of my very own - much like the dagger was mine - and contain a magic that I've never really been able to understand. They don't respond to the act of pure war, of war for the sake of war that is. I suspect that you'll be able to work them out, that spark of pure goodness should be enough to show you the way. Use them well when you do work out what the hell the magic surrounding them is, they should come in helpful._

 _Ares._

Chris folded the letter back over, wondering just why it was that he felt slightly annoyed after reading it, removing the covering in the box. Like the letter had said, inside sat two leather gauntlets, with moulding and sparsely studded with blood red rubies. Carefully, he removed them from the box one at a time, running his fingers over them slightly. He could still sense the magic from them, and wondered vaguely if this was the Powers That Be deciding to load him up with offensive and defensive items should he need them.

"Chris?" Cole called over, looking at the gauntlets in his hands. "Are you going to put them on? Or just side and admire them?" he pondered out loud, looking up at the ceiling and wearing an innocent expression. None of which hide the smirk that had appeared on his face. Chris threw a glare at him, not exactly appreciating the humour. He looked down at the gauntlets, deciding that at the very least, they looked pretty cool. Working quickly, he fixed them on his arms, noting that they weighed very little despite how they looked, but chalked it up to part of the magic of them.

"Come on then Demon Dude," he said, pulling his sunglasses out of his pocket and replacing them on himself. "Let's go … somewhere that's not here."

 **xXx**

Ottery St. Catchpole was very small, Chris decided. It was not, however, entirely unpleasant, it being an almost picture perfect model of the quaint English countryside. It was quiet, and peaceful, and just the right place to be on such a nice afternoon. He walked through the small village, heading for the house on the hill which looked rather like a stone.

"Chris!" Luna came flying out of the front door before he had even reached the stone pathway. "How are you?" she asked him, grinning up widely. "I'm so glad you came visiting, you have to come in an meet Daddy," she instructed him, dragging him by the arm into her house. Chris let out a soft laugh, allowing her to drag him around.

"Luna, you're going to hurt the boy if you keep doing that," Xenophilius called to his daughter, keeping a watchful eye on Chris, who was reminded very strongly of a predator wolf protecting its young. Apart from the eccentric feel he was getting from Xenophilius, the comparison was pretty solid. "You'd be Chris Halliwell?"

"That's who I was when I made my way here earlier," Chris responded. "If I've changed persona's since then I assure you it's not my fault, and must be the cause of the Gods of Irony, or the Gods of Bad Humour at the very least." He shot a grin at Xenophilius, who's stern expression softened slightly, though obviously he didn't quite want this to happen.

"Luna, dear," he called, "could you pour the tea for us please? We'll join you in the sitting room in the minute," he added, giving her a fatherly indulgent smile. Luna nodded, wandering back into the house in her usual dreamy state. Xenophilius waited until he heard the kitchen door close before inviting Chris in.

"Thanks, man," Chris nodded a thank you up at the man. "…You don't trust me," he guessed, looking at the expression on him. "And you're pretty much right too," he added, looking towards the ground.

"Is my daughter safe with you?" Xenophilius asked. Chris paused, considering the question at length. It was odd, but the impulse to lie didn't really come to him this one particular time. It would have been easy enough to spin the lie, it always was, but the impulse for it just wasn't there. "Well, is she safe with you?"

"She's not unsafe," he replied slowly, frowning in thought. "I wouldn't put her in deliberate danger," even though he had been tempted to do so, just to force her white lighter to show up, "but that's not to say she won't be in danger just by knowing me. My family's life is documented enough to prove that to you," he let out a rather bitter chuckle. Xenophilius didn't reply, but continued to watch him with a father's wary eye. "But I can … I can give my word, whatever it counts for now, that I won't deliberately let her get hurt. Not if I can stop it."

Xenophilius continued to stare at Chris for the longest while, a heavy silence descending on the pair. Slowly, he smiled, nodded at Chris to show he understood completely. A half smile crawled on to Chris own face, glad that he had managed to do the right thing in this case. He knew that Luna would never forgive him if he managed to make her father hate him. Speaking of the little Ravenclaw, he couldn't help but grin as her head popped out from the kitchen, somehow managing to have gotten itself covered in flour. She grinned widely.

"Tea's ready."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Chapter Notes: So here we got with the next chapter of this fic. It's a lot later coming that I had originally hoped, but there's been a lot of real life stuff going on, so ... erm ... yeah ... Read and review and tell me what you think?


	4. Chapter 4

"So you're running back to the land of the white hats," Nott remarked, watching as Chris stuffed clothes into a beat up looking satchel - no doubt to fit with the Order's view of him as an bitter orphan doing what he can to survive, than the 'prince' figure in what was sure to become a flourishing 'evil' empire. "I pity you mate, really I do. Not one among giving a decent conversation."

Chris laughed softly, looking round his room, moving quickly to kick a lone sock out of Dog's range. The hellhound had recently taken to attempting to eat socks, for who knows what reason. Chris had decided to not to give Dog the experience of tasting one, as he was sure that way would mean disaster of a sort. For his part, Dog glared at his master before hopping up on to the bed, looking to fall asleep. "Well, it is part of my whole infiltrator shtick," he said, "I have to hang out with the people we don't like all that much." He paused, considering this. "And my minions are alright, they do what I tell them to at the very least," he muttered, picking up a well worn book and flicking through it with slight interest. It appeared to be a map of London Below, with added notes about the various different fiefdoms. Chris began wondering where he managed to pick up even half of the crap that littered his room. Well, technically, his  _wing_  of the mansion set up they had, but he spent most of the time in the large bedroom he had chosen for himself.

"Because you're considered the coolest guy in that damn prison we go to," Nott commented causally. "Everyone wants the chance to be one of your hand picked, selective circle," he paused, considering it for a moment, "well, a lot of guys do. A lot of girls would rather you just jump them."

"And you know that last little bit how?" Chris asked, looking amused.

"You're the only Gryffindor that my House mates can stand, if only because you cause them more grief than all of us combined could," Nott replied. "And Slytherin girls are loud when gossiping, you just happen to be a particularly popular topic." Chris nodded at this, only partially listening. "I believe there's a group dedicated to marrying you and bearing your children." Chris blinked.

"Seriously?" he asked. Nott nodded. "Huh, funny. I said there was one to Fudge, but I was bullshitting at the time," he told Nott, who listened with slight interest. "So … I'm really the coolest guy?" he frowned, not sure whether to be pleased or pissed off at the information. Which was odd considering that he could remember a time only a few years previously when he wanted to be considered cool, or at least, considered anything other than Wyatt's geeky little brother. It wasn't that Chris took offence to being considered a geek, he would quite proudly wear that badge; geeks had knowledge, and knowledge is power after all. It was always the 'Wyatt's little brother' bit that got to him. Surely he was more than who he was related to? He had felt that his whole life, wanted to escape from under his brother's shadow. But, at the same time, there was a voice in his head, older, wiser, and calmer than Chris ever was, telling him that Wyatt needed him, that he had to be there to help him, to protect him.

"Yeah, you are, but don't let's get a big head about it," Nott remarked. "The lot in our year at least are easily impressed," he added, shrugging slightly. Chris may have thought his opinions on the school were dire, but Nott was worse. He had shown Chris a rather beat up black book, in which he had written various different sarcastic comments about every aspect of Hogwarts school life, and wasn't afraid to call the school out on the more illogical points to it. Chris wondered if he would published the book, and had asked this, Nott replied that he'd consider doing it when he'd left the school - he didn't want his chances at the NEWTS being screwed up.

"Ah well," Chris said, shrugging the news off. He didn't quite understand why he was excited about the information; it was the just the opinion of some stupid uninformed school kids after all. Nothing special.

"My Lord," he heard Nott say, hearing the quick clattering of the sideboard as the other boy stood quickly. Obviously someone important had entered. Chris turned round slowly, keeping his cool and fighting the smirk that he wanted to wear. He'd wear it later.

"You really should announce your entrances a bit better Wy," he remarked casually. "Dog might try to eat you next time," he smirked finally, looking slightly up at his older brother, who glared back; perhaps annoyed at being spoken to in such a manner in front of one of his little minions, perhaps not. Wyatt gestured for Nott to leave the room, clearly not wanting to be actually seen to be relatively nice to his younger brother. Nott shrugged at Chris, nodding a 'see you later' before exiting the room. "What is it then?"

"I just wanted to see you off," Wyatt said sounding, to Chris' ears at least, a lot more human than he had in a while. "Is that so wrong? Or should I remain impassive, pretending that we are only colleagues?" Chris frowned up at his brother, trying to work out just why it was he seemed different on this particular day.

"… You've just come from having fun times with Sid haven't you?" he asked. "Either that or you're on the way to getting drunk," he added, after giving it careful thought. To him those two options seemed like the only reasonable ones that Wyatt would start to treat him more like a human, and less like a pet project. He turned back to inspect his cases, missing the annoyed grimace that passed over Wyatt's face.

So much for following Mrs Malfoy's advice on trying to relate to his little brother. The woman didn't know what she was talking about, even if she did have that annoying little blonde rat as a son.

"Believe what you want, Chris," he sighed, sitting down at the end of the bed. Dog looked up from where he was reclining and growl softly. They never got on, did Wyatt and Dog. "But when you look at the facts of it all, it makes sense that I show a … modicum of care for you. I am the closest thing you've got to a parent, what with our father deciding that you aren't worth the air you breathe. Which has no grounding in truth, you are aware of that aren't you?" Wyatt looked over at Chris with narrowed eyes, as close to comfort as he could get currently. Chris stared back, nodding slightly, feeling slightly unnerved by Wyatt suddenly deciding to play parent.

"I haven't listened to Leo in long enough Wy, you know that," he responded. "And I don't need a parent looking out for me," his face hardened slightly, "I've been looking out for myself and I've survived so far haven't I?" Wyatt looked towards the ground, looking back up and studying his younger brother slightly. He was taller than Wyatt could ever remember him being, his face thinner, and more angular. He looked … he looked more like an adult than he did his little brother. To his confusion, Wyatt realised couldn't quite pinpoint when Chris had become so bitter about life. Though at the same time, he couldn't quite work out why he suddenly cared so much, why he was worried that he might hate him. This couldn't be his regular 'he might actually kill me one day' fear. No, this was something new altogether.

"When are you leaving?" he asked, looking up at Chris and pretending he didn't notice the heavy gauntlets gracing his brother's wrists. Chris looked round.

"In the morning," he answered, "they're expecting me a little after ten in the morning so I'll leave then I guess." He shrugged his shoulders, not particularly caring what time he left at. It was all one to him, orbing did allow him instantaneous travel after all, so he never had to take travel time into consideration. "I'll take Dog with me, be for the best," he said, "he hates you."

"The feeling's mutual," Wyatt replied dryly. He paused, before standing and brushing invisible particles of dust off of his smart looking shirt - he never dressed in jeans and t-shirts anymore, Chris had noticed. It was as though he was trying to give all of the followers the impression of someone who never had a break from being completely professional about the job at hand. "I suppose now it would be appropriate to remove the sleeping charm from you," he said. Chris straightened up, looking at his brother warily, wondering the catch.

"… I'd say so. I completed your training regime, I learned all the damn curses you wanted me to," he pointed out carefully, so as not to antagonise his brother. "Would be nice to be able to sleep around the do-gooders once in a while, they'd get suspicious otherwise," he added considering the matter briefly. It was true, to an extent. It would only really be Molly who noticed, bleeding heart that she was. She panic and fuss over Chris, in a way that would be too much like his own mother for his liking.

"Then sleep, little brother," Wyatt said, laying a hand on Chris' shoulder and lifting the spell. Instantly Chris' eyes closed, as his body crumple forward, overtaken with pure exhaustion, forcing him into an instant sleep. Dog jumped off the bed, moving over to sniff at his master's feet, knowing that he wasn't in danger, but worrying for the boy anyway. Wyatt grabbed hold of his brother, holding him steady, before setting him up on his bed. Dog stared up at the elder of the two Halliwell's, not trusting Wyatt one bit. "I'm not going to hurt him you stupid mutt," Wyatt snapped down at the hellhound. "I just … I'm trying to be what I should have been okay?" he muttered, looking at his brother with concern. "I have the funniest feeling he's going to betray me soon, and I don't think I care if he does. As long as he knows he'll always have a brother, that's all I care about right now."

 **xXx**

"So how is she then?" Chris asked Craig, who had greeted him when he arrived at the Burrow. He always got this itching in the back of his head around Craig, and around Lu, and sometimes Sid when he thought on it. It was like part of him was trying to warn him to something, but that made no sense at all. He'd checked after all, there was nothing of a threat in the three - unless you counted Craig's wolfish tendencies. The itch meant nothing, it  _had_  to mean nothing.

He hoped it meant nothing.

"Not good," Craig answered. "She's locked herself in the bathroom," he added, "and she's been in there since midnight," he sounded nervous. "You know Lu, she's in for half an hour at the most. Something's not right." Chris nodded, dropping the heavy rucksack he was using as a case at his feet. Dog sniffed at it, wondering if his master had packed any treats for him in it. Seemingly knowing what Dog was thinking, Craig grinned down at the hellhound, pulling out a small bag of dog treats and throwing one to him. Off Chris' questioning glance, he explained: "Hey, I've spent a good part of my life on all fours. I'm kind of partial to these myself."

"Yeah, maybe keep that golden nugget to yourself Wereboy," Chris suggested, rolling his eyes lightly. "We should probably get her out of there though," he added, heading for the stairs. Craig followed behind him quickly, pointing towards the locked bathroom door when they reached the right landing. Chris tried the handle, finding the door still locked. "Sweets, come on out now," he called in, only to get nothing in return. Craig looked more worried, if it was possible for him to be so.

"There's never answer," he explained his worry and Chris nodded, stepping back slightly, to lean against the wall directly opposite the door. He took a breath in, before jumping up and kicking at the door, _hard_. The door went flying back, falling to the ground heavily. Inside the bathroom, Lu jumped, looking at the reflection of the two boys in the mirror. Her eyes wee red, and her cheeks stained with tears. On the floor lay long, hacked at strands of blonde hair that had once sat on Lu's head. Blonde hair which was now the deepest of blacks.

Just like Sirius' had been.

"Oh Sweets," Chris muttered, shaking his head at the sight. He turned to go downstairs, letting Craig deal with getting her out of the bathroom. He walked downstairs quicker than he had ascended them, wondering briefly why he hadn't been surprised at the sight, why he had almost known that she would chose to do that. He didn't know any of these people that well, but there the thought was, in his head before he got the door down. It was unnerving, how he could know what these few would do before they did it. And it filled him with a horror, as he suspected that he knew what was causing it. "… They wouldn't be so stupid."

"Who wouldn't?" Craig asked him, directing Lu into one of the empty seats, as Molly fussed in the kitchen behind them. That was something else that was odd about them. When Chris spent time with his minions, no one else seemed to be around, as though to force him to spend the time with them. It was almost like …

"No one," he said quickly, turning to face Lu. "Seriously, what's the deal," he spoke softly, his tone softening the blow that the words should have provided. "Self destruction 101? He wouldn't have wanted that," he added, his tone softer still, almost goading her into reaction. Craig drew in a sharp breath. Lu glared at Chris through dry looking eyes, eyes that suggested that the only reason this person wasn't crying was because they'd used up all the tears that they could.

"Like your mum wanted this for you? To turn into the biggest wanker the world's ever seen?" she snapped at him. Chris bristled, angered at what she was saying. "I mean, what are you gonna say? We're in a similar situation because you watched her die too? Maybe that's the case, but that gives no you no right to tell me how to grieve!"

"Maybe it doesn't but did it ever spark in that tiny little mind of yours that we're just trying to he…lp," he trailed off as his mind screamed one tiny little detail at him: no one alive other than himself knew that he had watched his mother died, that he has seen her slaughtered in front of him, with himself being trapped and powerless to help her. He stood quickly.

"Chris I'm sure she didn't mean it she was just … Where are you going? Chris!" He ignored Craig's frantic calls, pushing past him to exit the Burrow, and orbing when he was halfway across the field in front of the odd house. He reappeared up in the main hall of the Elders, much to their shock. The youngest of the current Elders, named Kevin, stepped forward, as he happened to have the privilege of being the only one of them on decent enough terms with Chris.

"Chris what are you doing …"

"Why did you do it?" Chris was staring at the ground, his fists clenched, fighting with himself not to look in to the eyes of any of these people. "I know what you did, all I want to know is  _why_ you did it." His voice sounded strangely hollow, devoid of any emotion to it. "Well?"

Kevin stared, not knowing what Chris was speaking about. Another Elder, by the name of Zathros, stepped forward. "It was your father's idea," he said softly, his voice echoing in the silence that had fallen. Chris gave a humourless snort of laughter, rolling his eyes to prove that he had already figured out that much. "He voiced concerns that you would be tempted to stray from the path we had bargained at, suggested that you would need allies to encourage you."

"So what?" Chris looked up, his face looking drained of everything that made him so uniquely him. "You decided to get out your clay set and create me some friends? Perfect for my personality?" he sounded disgusted, or at least he would if there were even a scrap of emotion to his tone. He still sounded hollow. "What was the point of it all? Did you think I honestly wouldn't work it out?"

"Your white lighter side is processing faster than we have previously assumed it would," Zathros bowed his head, as though this were something that Chris should be deeply proud of. Chris scowled at the action, looking away. "They are, for all purposes, real people. With real memories and real family ties."

"Except that they were created just before I got involved in this all," Chris shot back, "and all those memories are fake, and only I know this." He looked towards the ground again. "Her heart is broken because she just lost her Dad. Only she didn't, because he wasn't her Dad, so she shouldn't be in this much pain," he looked back up, anger clear on his face now. "He's panicking over the anti-wolf feeling that damn Ministry is giving out, when he doesn't need too!" A thought struck Chris, as he stepped backwards from them all. "And the third one? She's fallen in love with my brother, and … he might actually see her as something more than a toy now. What do I tell him?"

"Would you rather the Cleaners remove them from existence?"

"NO!" Chris snapped, before glaring at the ground. "I just … I wish you hadn't done this," he admitted closing his eyes slightly. He sighed and look up at them. "I'm guessing they each represent a pat of my personality I've lost and am in need of regaining?"

"No," Zathros responded. Kevin looked deeply confused, noting that the room now only contained himself, Zathros and Chris. Elders were a sneaky ninja lot after all. "You could claim that they represent the evolution of you, if you like. Sid, the eldest, the child confused at what offends her, or his in your case, father. Craig, the child who puts a smile on no matter what he is really feeling, because it makes his remaining family happy. And Luperca, the child who has lost the parental figure she - again, he in your case - is closest too, and feels the most kinship with."

"So an ass pull then?" Chris sounded almost amused now. Kevin stepped forward.

"I had nothing to do with this you know man," he said. Kevin had been made an Elder due to the efforts of the Charmed Ones when he was just a teenager. He had never really thought to adopt a more mature approach to language when it came to how he spoke. "I have a feeling I was deliberately kept out of the loop," his eyes narrowed slightly in Zathros' direction.

"Most likely," Chris responded. "You sympathise with my family after all." There was another pause, as he looked out at the vast whiteness of the place, noting with a small smile that the peace was the one thing he liked about visiting up here, if only because peace was hard to find in his chaotic life.

"I am pleased to see you've come round to this," Zathros' said. Chris glared in his direction.

"I have not come round to the idea, nor am I pleased or forgiving about it," he said coolly. "It just takes up too much energy to argue with you lot, and I'm not a fan of the headache that comes with it either." He regarded Zathros with an almost amused glance. "This is the beginning man, of the end of me even attempting to do what you lot ask. Thin ice man."

"You don't mean that, do you?" Kevin asked, concerned. Chris nodded.

"I do," he responded, "I've had my fill of what these bastards can dish out to me. One more thing … and I'm gone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Chapter Notes: It's a busy time my end, with many assessments in my college course happening. But I got the chapter finished, so uploaded it. Read and review and more to come .. erm .. probably June sometime ...


	5. Chapter 5

"Chris, where have you been?" Molly fretted upon Chris' reappearance at the Burrow. "You just disappeared. It's been two days Chris!" She told him, an almost motherly concern towards him etched on her face. "Luperca and Craig went back home and then Professor Dumbledore showed up, looking for you after dropping Harry off and I didn't know what to say to him."

"Relax Molly," Chris said, patting her arm. "I just … I got called by the Elders, and it was in my interests to actually listen to them for once in my life," he explained with a wry grin. "There's gonna be a sharp rise in the number of white lighters sooner or later and they just wanted to keep me informed," he said, reeling off some of the information he had been fed after dealing with the whole 'my friends aren't actually real people' issue. He'd actually met one of the new white lighters, and wasn't really surprised to see Sirius in the ranks. Chris liked Sirius, he was a good person at heart, and died fighting to try to protect people. If anyone deserved the 'honour' of being a white lighter it was him. There was a moment of questioning about James and Lily Potter but he and Sirius were sharply informed that it was none of their business and they would do well to keep their noses out of it.

Sirius had promised to get back to Chris when he'd work it out and Chris like wise with him. As it stood, Sirius was the more likely of the two to work anything out; mostly because he wasn't the one with an active charge who happened to be a magnet for trouble

"Oh dear," Molly looked troubled by the information. "Those poor people," she sighed, turning to look out of the window. "Oh, where is my head these days. There's tea in the pot dear, and food kept warm in the oven." Chris smiled gratefully, moving over to the kitchen table where yet another red-head sat.

"Hey Bill."

"Chris," Bill nodded at greeting at Chris. Bill, Chris had decided, was someone intrinsically cool. Nothing really seemed to faze him, and Chris couldn't help but admire the quality. They had never really talked, but they got on well enough to sit in a companionable silence while eating the food Molly had cooked.

"An' who ez theeze?" a heavily accented French voice spoke loudly. Chris turned, seeing the silvery-blonde hair, and the perfect sculpted features, dressed impeccably with arms folded over the chest, affecting a disgruntled pose. Whoever she was, she was very obviously beautiful.  _Who really goes in for obvious these days?_  Chris thought somewhat cynically, turning his attention back to the plate of food in front of him. Treated like royalty or not, it was hard to get a decent enough meal when he was with Wyatt's minions.

"Chris Halliwell," he muttered, biting into a slice of buttered toast. Bill looked between the two, evidentially expecting some sort of reaction from Chris. "What man?" Chris asked, frowning. Fortunately he was distracted by the arrival of Hermione, who was sporting a rather large black eye. "Hey Beautiful, who've you been fighting?"

"Fred and George."

"No another one of their inventions," Molly gave a sigh that betrayed just a smidgen of the pride she felt for her two successful boys. No one could fault her it really; she was a mother who had so much love for each and every single one of her children, as well as though she considered family. "Sit down then Hermione dear, and we'll see what we can do." Hermione moved to where Molly gestured, an annoyed look appearing on her face. Smiling slightly, Chris joined them, ignoring the twittering of Fleur, who had decided that now would be a good time to question Chris about what it was like being the child of a Charmed One. He nodded a greeting to Ginny when appeared in the kitchen, just a few minutes after Hermione.

"Romance addict," he grinned slightly on seeing her confused face. It still surprised him how some people had yet to work out that he was more likely to nickname them than use their real name

"Wha … oh hi Chris," Ginny responded, remember what she'd been told of Chris' odd naming habits from Fred and George. "Any luck yet Mum?" she asked, peering over at her friend. Molly looked at the black eye, deeply annoyed.

"It just won't budge. This has always worked before," she moaned, gesturing to the open book in front of her,  _The Healer_ _'_ _s Helpmate_. Chris peered at the book with slight interest, having never really seen it before. It was opened at the chapter on bruises, cuts and abrasions. "I just can't understand it."

"It'll be Fred and George's idea of a funny joke, making sure it can't come off," Ginny suggested. Chris considered this, before shrugging his shoulders in an agreement. He was being oddly quiet, as the three females noticed, though Molly was possibly the one noticing it the most. She couldn't just turn off her motherly instinct to worry.

"But it's got to come off!" Hermione squeaked, sounding more like a girl Chris had went to school with who had always irritated him with her constant flipping of her hair than herself. It was different, to say the least. "I can't go around looking like this for ever!"

"You won't dear, we'll find an antidote, don't worry," Molly soothed, patting Hermione's shoulder gently .

"Bill told me 'ow Fed and George are very amusing," Fleur spoke up, smiling serenely over at Bill, who beamed for a moment before seeming to shrink into his seat at the glare his mother shot him. Chris rolled his eyes slightly, standing and moving away from the kitchen into the living room quickly, not really wanting to be a part of the sniping that was sure to ensue.

He sat himself on the stair at the front door, having by passed the living room in favour of air. "What the hell is wrong with me today," he muttered softly. He knew what was wrong with him, it was obvious to him really, but still, he was normally able to work pass it all, act like he was normal. Pretend he was him, if that made any sense, as it really didn't make much sense to him. "I hate visiting the Elders," he muttered, burying his head between his arms, forehead resting on his knees. There always seemed to be a time displacement if he was up there for longer than an hour, and it always gave him some of the worst headaches he'd ever had the misfortune to experience.

He wasn't entirely sure how long he'd been sitting on the stair, head hidden under his arms, when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. "You okay Chris?" Harry asked, looking at Chris with an odd expression. "You looked like you were asleep."

"A fond wish if ever there was one Wonder Boy, but I'm fine," Chris responded. He looked up at Harry. "What about you?" he asked, slightly interested if only because he had promised Sirius he would make sure his kids were coping.

"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?" Harry said. Chris sighed, not liking that response. "If you mean Sirius, I know he wouldn't want me sitting and moping around. So I'm getting on with it," he explained, giving a small smile. Chris looked up at him, throwing him an unbelieving look. "…What?"

"There's coping and then there's shutting your emotions off completely," Chris explained. "Now, I'm a master of the latter, so … this whole 'fine' thing you've got going? I ain't buying it," he said, his eyebrow raised at Harry in challenge. Harry stared down at the other boy, before sighing. Chris shifted slightly on the stair, creating room for Harry to sit down beside him, which he did.

"I'm just trying to cope Chris," Harry said slowly. "And it's hard.. Sirius was… He was like a big brother and a dad and a friend all at the same time," he sighed, fidgeting with the hem of his top, gazing down towards the ground. "I just," he sighed once more. Chris didn't push it, he knew from his own experience that this was hard, but he also knew that admitting it helped. Even if it was the last thing you wanted to do. "I feel like it's my fault. That… that he died." Chris promptly hit Harry over the back of the head. "What the hell was that for?"

"A promise I made," Chris said, giving a look which told Harry plainly that it would be the only explanation he would receive for the action. "Potter, listen. You're being a complete and utter idiot about this. I get that its survivor's guilt, I've been through it myself," he paused, "and now I sound like an old army vet." He shook his head. "My point is that it wasn't you who threw the killing blow," Harry opened to interrupt him, "IT wasn't you Potter, so stop acting like it was."

There was a long silence. "You know that's done nothing to help me, right?" Harry said eventually. Chris nodded.

"Didn't expect it to," he said quickly, looking directly ahead of him, careful not to meet Harry's gaze, a smirk crawling on to his face, "just wanted you to quit whining on me."

"Thought as much," Harry said a hint of a grin on his face. There was another silence. "You know, the thing at the Ministry, I didn't expect you to show up." Chris threw him a scandalised look and Harry shrugged. "Sorry mate, but I didn't. I mean, you're a Halliwell, the demented ramblings of a known nut job don't really seem like the sort of thing you follow."

"You ever read about my Aunt Phoebe? We followed hers all the time," Chris remarked dryly, before wincing and looking around him. "… Okay, got away with that. Didn't think I would but hey," he shrugged. Harry stared for a moment before shaking his head. It was best just to go with some of Chris' ramblings, it made for fewer headaches. "What did happen? At the Ministry?" Chris asked. "This past month, well I've heard some stuff," he said, "you don't skulk around the Underworld and not pick up on the rumours."

Harry looked towards the ground, squinting slightly as if trying to work out the best way to word something. "…Dumbledore doesn't want me telling you," he said after a moment or two of careful thought. "I don't think he trusts you."

"He'd be perfectly right not to," Chris said, shrugging his shoulders. Harry stared, and Chris gave a small laugh "Why do you think the Elders are on my case all the time? Why they assigned Cole to be my cosmic babysitter?"

"But you're a member of the Order!" Harry protested. Chris shrugged again, he seemed to be doing that a lot today.

"So what?" he responded. Off Harry's confused look, he explained. "Look Potter, my loyalty is to me and me alone. I wouldn't trust me either if I was in his position." Harry seemingly took this in, looking at the ground then looking up.

"So this means I'm not to trust you," he said slowly, "so I don't need to tell you anything about what happened," thee was another pause. "Which really doesn't work in my favour because I needed to run something by you to see if…"

"Tell me."

"Have you had the chance to see the Daily Prophet recently?" Harry asked Chris, who shook his head in response. "Well, they've been running stories about what happened at the Ministry, saying it was about a prophecy between me and Voldemort," he paused, and a shaky laugh forced its way through his lips. "Who would have thought that they'd ever be right about something?"

"It's surely the first sign of the apocalypse," Chris said. "Now what about this prophecy?"

"It was in a glass ball," Harry said. "But the glass ball smashed. It just turned out that it wasn't the only copy of the prophecy." Chris gestured from him to continue, leaning forward with interest. "I heard the whole thing, in Dumbledore's office. He was the one the prophecy was made to, so he could tell me." Harry took a deep breath, as if trying to internally steel himself for the reveal. "From what it said, it looks like I'm the one who's got to finish off Voldemort … at least I think so. It said neither of us could live while the other survives."

Chris considered this. "And the news that you're gonna be the one to off Mouldy Shorts, that was actually news to you?" he asked after a moment. Harry glared at him. "Okay, okay, don't piss off Prophecy Boy." He thought about what Harry had said. "At face value, it seems air tight, I mean, don't get me wrong here I'll see if there's a way around it, but you're gonna have to face him one day anyway Potter."

"I know," Harry said, sounding depressed. "I'm gonna die."

"Shut the fuck up Potter, you won't… okay yeah you'll die, but I'll drag you back and make you finish the job," Chris smirked. Harry stared, looking at the ground.

"No Chris, I'm not joking," he said. "I'm terrified. I don't want to have to face him," he told Chris. "I can't be the one to face him. I've gotten by on sheer luck and people rushing in at the right moment to save me," he let out a huge breath. "I … I'm not strong enough to face Voldemort on my own, and that terrifies me. I'll die because I'm not that type of person. I'm not like you," he said, gesturing at Chris. "I'm not the brave demon hunter who can take on anything and anyone with a quick quip and a confident smirk," he said, his hands clutching at his head. "I just... I can't do. I'm not strong enough."

Chris looked away for a moment, before turning back. "… You do know I've got a death wish right?"

"Yeah, yeah," Harry said dryly. "Great way of trying to make me feel better."

"Why the  _fuck_  would I try to cheer you up?" Chris' voice was hard, any of its humour lost. "You think my life is cool? Potter, I'm being serious when I say I've got a death wish, I honestly don't wanna live," he shook his head, looking away from Harry.

"But… why?" Harry asked, sounding confused. "You're a Halliwell, one of the Warren Witches as you keep telling us. You're, what was that phrase you used," he paused, trying to remember, "Magical royalty or something like that anyway."

"And with that comes forever running, never having a quiet moment because there's always some evil after you, after your powers, after your life," Chris sounded disgusted. "My life is gonna get me killed someday, it's killed my whole fuckin' family Harry. And you know what?" he looked at Harry, and for a second it was like he was 14 years old again. "I can't wait till it finally decides that that's it for me, that I'm done. Because then I can rest. Then I won't be running," he looked towards the ground. "Like it or not, out of both of us, you're the stronger one." He shrugged. "I'm just … some guy with a shitty life."

There was a long, long silence.

"Oh," Chris said, breaking the uncomfortable silence finally, "and out of both of us, I'm definitely the prettiest."

 **xXx**

Chris ended up being squashed into the same room as Harry that night, in a camp bed on the floor. He didn't mind, it was a bed, and it let him get some sleep, so of course he was going to be content. He fell into a deep sleep, still feeling the - actually rather pleasant - effects of Wyatt lifting the curse, and couldn't be woken until the next morning.

All of which worked in Wyatt's favour really.

He sat at the bottom of the camp bed, wondering just why he had come to the Burrow in the middle of the night - the unfortunate implications of the action were rife. If he thought about it, the truth of the matter was that he was concerned for his little brother. There was just something … off about him lately.

"You can come out you know Cole," Wyatt said, calling softly into the dark of the room. "Chris may think he's perfect at keeping secrets from me, but he seems to keep forgetting that I'm his big brother," he deadpanned. "He can't keep secrets from me."

Cole stepped into the room, looking down at the blonde Halliwell with an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. "You … look a lot like Leo," he remarked.

"This is the first time you see me face to face and that's your only comment?" Wyatt shook his head. "I somehow expect more from you Cole." He sounded almost disappointed.

"And it's official. All members of the Halliwell family have a tendency towards sarcasm," Cole rolled his eyes. "How long have you known? That I'm around?" he asked, watching Wyatt carefully. Wyatt smirked up at him and Cole found himself pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "Of course, you always knew. How stupid of me for thinking it might have actually taken time for you to work anything out. Forgive me."

"And you were talking about my use of sarcasm?" Wyatt scoffed lightly, looking over at Chris with a small smirk. "He thinks he's being such a clever little spy, he has no idea, not really. And that's the way I intend to keep it, it's safer."

"What about the…" Cole began

"It's a glamour. I put it there," Wyatt interrupted him. "We came up with some charms for it, to make it work without detection," he sounded very pleased with himself. "He won't let me disguise it though, stupid fool that he is." Cole said nothing, but leant against the wooden doorframe. "I know what he's planning to do," Wyatt said.

"Are you planning on stopping him at any point?" Cole asked. "Because, and this is from one Source to another, Chris might actually succeed in his plans."

"He won't," Wyatt said. "He's too bound by family loyalty. But the planning, well it keeps his mind from darker places, and stops him from doing something incredibly stupid, so I allow it," he shrugged. "It's amusing, playing dumb and pretending I have no idea when he's lying to me."

"It's cruel, but cruelty is a particular trait of yours isn't it?" Cole said. Wyatt looked up, a lazy smirk on his face.

"Oh? And what of you Cole, and the history that surrounds you," he said slowly, looking back at Chris and then to Cole, letting out a small, humourless laugh. "You won't win you know, playing the parent? Because, when it comes down to it, no matter how fatherly you've been to him? He's still my brother, and we always side with each other."

"Maybe he's looking for a way to escape having to take sides," Cole suggested. "If he's thinking the way we're both so very sure he is."

"I am not going to let it happen," Wyatt said quickly. "Chris can think those things all he likes. I am not going to let him destroy himself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Chapter Notes: Didn't expect to have this chapter up so quickly, there's only really two things going on it in though so that could explain it all Hope you enjoy the chapter, and review when done please. If you recognise it I probably don't own it


	6. Chapter 6

  


"So, despite all advice to the contrary, we are going to the twins' new shop?" Chris checked with Molly, who clucked her tongue in a rather annoyed manner against her teeth. "Hey, cool with me. I'm all for running the risk of destruction. S̀what makes my life so much  _fun_." This gained a rather odd stare from Harry, but Chris brushed it off. "And who will be joining us on this most wonderful of dancing with death days?" Molly just looked at him, and didn't respond.

It was an overcast and murky Saturday, and awaiting the Weasleys', Harry, Hermione, and Chris in the front yard of the Burrow was - in Chris' opinion - a rather sleek looking car. It was one of the special Ministry of Magic cars, in which the rest seemed to have travelled in before. "It's good Dad can get us these again," Ron said, stretching in his seat as the car moved away from the Burrow. Chris shifted uncomfortably; it had been a long time since he had been anywhere in a car, and it felt foreign to him, like something he shouldn't be doing. He allowed the conversation to wash over him, spending the trip looking out of the window at the English countryside. He vaguely recognised the small village as the one down from Luna's house, and briefly wondered how she was enjoying Sweden, and if he should take her father up on his offer to join them for a day or two and just orb over.

A surprisingly short time later, the car slowed down, stopping in Charing Cross just across from the Leaky Cauldron. "Here you are then," the driver said. "I'm to wait for you, any idea how long you'll be?"

"A couple of hours I expect," said Mr. Weasley. "Ah good, here he is." The teenagers in the back of the car turned as one to look out of the windows. There was no Aurors waiting outside, something which Chris had expected and dreaded - he was  _sure_  he'd be recognised, especially after that last attack the other week there on a Ministry safe house, and the rumours flying round that an Auror had caught sight of people coming out of Madam Bones' home right before she was found dead... Outside, waiting on the group, stood the gigantic, black-beared form of the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Rebeus Hagrid. He wore a long beaverskin coat, and beamed at the sight of Harry, completely oblivious to the startled stares of passing Muggles.

Chris rather felt like escaping Below and seeing if the Floating Market was taking place; it would be more fun than having to hang around with a group of boring do-gooders accompanied by a half-giant. Perhaps he'd go after seeing Fred and George. The pub was completely empty, something for which Chris felt a tiny pang of pain. It was odd, seeing both sides of the war. He would admit to having fun while committing some of the most vile acts of magic imaginable, and there was something freeing about it all. But to have to see the after effects of his acts, it wasn't something he enjoyed. They passed through quickly, which Chris was silently grateful for.

Eventually, they came to a point when the group needed to split in two. "Molly, it doesn't make sense for all of us to go to Madam Malkin's," said Mr. Weasley. "Why don't those three, sorry, four," he amended, deciding to include Chris with them, "go with Hagrid, and we can go to Flourish and Blotts and get everyone's school books?" Mrs. Weasley, bless her, looked torn.

"I don't know," she said, her desire to finish the shopping as quickly as possible fighting with her wish of keeping everyone together so as to keep them safe. "Hagrid, do you think -?"

"Don' fret, they'll be fine with me, Molly," Hagrid soothed, waving on of his hands in an airy manner. Chris wasn't surprised that Mrs. Weasley didn't look at all convinced, he didn't trust Hagrid to 'protect' them as much as he trusted Wyatt's cooking. It was to be expected that he was less than pleased when Mrs. Weasley decided to allow the separation. The way to Madam Malkin's was filled with scurrying groups. All tightly knitted together, not one stopping to have a friendly chat. No one wanted to be alone, no one felt safe.

Is this the utopia Wyatt was always talking about? Chris couldn't help but think it seemed worse than the supposed dystopia that the world was meant to be. "Migh' be a bit of a squeeze in there with all o' us," Hagrid observed when they reached the store, peering through the window. "I'll stand guard outside, all right'?" Chris remained outside when the other three entered the shop. "No goin' in then?" Hagrid questioned.

"I don't exactly do the uniform thing," Chris shrugged. "Too old hat for my dangerously modern approach to magic," he allowed a small smirk, leaning against the cool stone of the shop and looking around. "Is it like this everywhere?"

"Far as we c'n tell," Hagrid responded earnestly. "Terrible thin', no one's safe anymore, no' even in their own homes," he shook his head at this thought. "Course, yeh'll know all about tha', being who yeh are an' all," he added thoughtfully, giving Chris a very respectful nod. Chris nodded back, biting without thinking on his bottom lip, considering the situation carefully. "All down to tha' git tha' the other git's teamed up wi'." Hagrid said sagely, as though his opinion were the most important word on the matter. Chris felt a flash of anger at what he said, no one got to call his brother a git, before remembering that no one knew that the other git was his brother.

Oh the problems a double, triple, or was it quadruple, life could posses. Maybe he should give it all up, he considered, and just stick to the one side. He dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred to him. There was not really a great deal of fun involved in sticking with the one side, and he'd manipulated this war far too much already to stop now. If he left it the way it was just now, without any further 'assistance' from him, it would all erupt in one huge explosion, and then where would anyone be? It was too dangerous for him to quit what he was doing, no matter how tempting it may have been.

"... we'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's," a loud voice came booming out of the shop, causing Chris to freeze in his place. He knew that voice all too well, the person it was connected to had often attempted to 'mother' him in the manner suitable for pureblood families. This, he realised, was going to be very awkward. "My Lord?" Narcissa Malfoy stopped in her tracks, Draco standing beside her, both wearing expressions of shock. They didn't seem to notice Hagrid, and he stared at what Mrs. Malfoy was saying with an open jaw. "My Lord, I heard rumours of your disappearance, but to be in the company of  _these_  people..." her hand touched the bottom of her throat in what Chris was sure was meant to be seen as a concerned gesture. "Draco, don't just stand there, take any parcels His Lordship might have." Draco jumped at what his mother said as though an electric shock had been sent through him, and he stepped forward. It was then that Hagrid seemed to find his voice.

"Now just see here," he began, "Ah don' know wha' yeh're talkin' about, bu' this boy here isn't you 'Lord'. He doesn't follow the stuff yeh and yeh're son do, so why don'"

"Oh be silent you stupid oaf," Narcissa snapped, waving her wand quickly to cast a Silencing Charm. "When we are gone from your sight you will not remember this discussion, and will think that His Lordship was approached by a relative of his," she kept a clear eye level with Hagrid, her tone musical in its spell casting, "and that he is currently in their company, completely out of harm's way." There was a flash from her wand, signifying that her spell was cast. "Now, please, my Lord, do allow my son and I to accompany you on your shopping trip." She pinched Draco's shoulder lightly, in effort to get him to say something.

"Erm, yes, do ... allow us," he forced out, not looking pleased at having to grovel to the person who had taken delight in humiliating throughout the last school year. "It would be such an honour," he added, knowing that it would keep his mother happy. Chris shrugged.

"Whatever," he responded. "Twilfitt and Tatting's, right?" he asked, remembering the name of the shop they had said they were going to. Twilfitt and Tatting also both happened to be followers of dearest Tommy, though they were more what Chris would call 'Sunday Followers,' rather like those who had been brought up in a particular religion. They may not have been particularly religious all of the time, but they attended the masses at the right time, and then lived their usual lives.

"Oh, My Lord is too kind to change his schedule to fit with our needs," Narcissa simpered. Chris felt sick with the constant sucking up to him, and judging by his expression, Draco also felt a bit sick at his mother's actions. She leaned forward, brushing invisible dust from Chris' shoulders, an action which he couldn't help but stare at. "Oh, do forgive me," she said, blinking, not quite knowing why she had done it. "The shop is this way," she gestured, "just follow my Draco."

Draco shot Chris a semi-glare, letting him know that he wasn't anymore pleased with this than Chris was, but he wasn't about to disappoint his mother. Chris nodded, respecting his decision. Despite the fact that he couldn't help but find the woman to be one of the most pretentious he had ever had the misfortune to come across, Chris understood the idea of wanting to do a parent proud. He was rather glad he wasn't stuck with that delusion anymore; like Leo could give a damn about him.

Twilfitt and Tatting's turned out to be far more 'posh' than Madam Malkin's could ever hope to be. As Narcissa explained, this was the shop in which the elite of the magical community got their clothes; mentioning that his Lordship Wyatt even had receded a few one of a kind suits from the store as gifs, and that she believed one of Chris' nicer suits was from this store.

Chris made a silent note to burn all of his suits.

Inside the store, the staff ran around, catering to every whim the customer might have, Within a few seconds of entering Chris found himself being placed in the comfiest chair they could offer, a mug of the finest coffee in his hands. This, they assured him, was the very least that they could do for him, and even it was not worthy considering it was His Lordship in the shop. Chris couldn't help but smirk slightly, enjoying the royal treatment while it lasted. It did help to dull the pangs of guilt he had been feeling while walking through Diagon Alley.

"So, they don't know, do they?" Draco asked quietly, coming over and sitting beside him while his mother was in a separate room being measured for a new set of grand dress robes. "The side of light, or whatever term it is we call them?"

"You know," Chris said, pulling himself up from the relaxed position he had been slouched in, "I don't take kindly to that tone, Draco Diddums," he said. "Please remember to whom you are referring," he added, a contemptuous sniff punctuating the end of the sentence. "What's the deal anyway? Thought you and mommy over there were doing the whole laying low thing?"

"I need school supplies for the upcoming year," Draco answered. "Supplies which included new robes, but that dammed dressmaker kept sticking the pins into..." he trailed off, remembering that he wasn't meant to be talking about the events of a few weeks ago. Chris rolled his eyes slightly.

"I do know you're all marked up," he told Draco. "I mean, I am the second in command, not much happens that I don't get knowing about," he shook his head, hiding the smirk that threatened to come, wanting to show annoyance at Draco's actions, rather than amusement at the expression on the Slytherin's face. "Honestly, minions these days. I'll need to have words with Lord Wyatt about you," he threatened. Draco paled. "And what's the deal here? Do purebloods not feel the need to contact grieving family members?"

"She was never included on the family tree," Draco shot back, expecting this to explain everything. On Chris' look, his face fell. He  _hated_  explaining things, especially to people who should really already know these things. "Since her father was disowned by Great Aunt Walburga, she was never included on any official recordings of the family tree. By the strict, traditional standards that we as purebloods are expected to keep, it is not done to grieve for a disowned member of the family," he nodded when he was done, a self-satisfied smirk appearing on his face. Chris slapped him.

"There's a huge difference between following standards, and being an ass," he spat. "And you, Diddums, are stuck in the latter category." Narcissa rejoined them as this point, smiling beautifully, though Chris realised it did nothing to hide the poisonous nature of her personality. "Sorry, Narcissa," he said quickly, standing from his seat and placing the coffee mug on the provided table, "but I have a prior arrangement that I just can't ignore, so I'll have to be leaving your company here." For her credit, Narcissa looked genuinely disappointed.

"Oh, but my Lord, for you to rejoin those people," her hand moved as though she were going to reach out to him, but thought better of it. "I cannot being to imagine how horrible it must be for you. To go through  _such_  an ordeal."

"It's pretty damn pleasant actually," Chris shrugged. "I get good meals," he added, to which Narcissa nodded, though truthfully she couldn't understand why he would attempt to stick up for such blood traitors. Perhaps the prolonged exposure to those types of people had begun to affect him. She would need to inform Lord Wyatt as soon as was possible, just to be on the safe side. There was a pause, and Chris reached forward to pull Narcissa to the side, out of Draco's earshot - though he was being distracted by one of the tailor's constant questioning. "And I've considered the request you made of me before I left."

"My Lord?" Narcissa said, barely even daring to hope. She knew that dear Severus would do all he could to help, but there was only so much that he, even as Head of House, could manage. That was the only reason she had even dared to approach Chris with such an outlandish request, though she knew that had Lord Voldemort overheard, she would be severely punished. To blatantly disregard his rules ... it just wasn't done.

"I'll offer what help I can," Chris said slowly, "but you are aware that me and Draco, we really don't get on, Narcissa. I really doubt he'll tell me anything, even if I order him to," he warned her. "And if Tommy ever finds out..." he left the sentence hanging, both of them well aware of the consequence.

"He is my son," she said. "There is nothing that I wouldn't do to keep him safe." Chris nodded, wishing that he didn't recognise the statement as one that had once been spoken by many members of his family; including his mother and Wyatt - though Wyatt had made it sound more like a threat.

"Then all I can do is promise to try," he said softly, "and believe me; trying is something I'm a great believer in."

 **xXx**

The walk toward Fred and George's shop was deadly silent, something for which Chris was glad of. It allowed him time to think. He may not like the Malfoy family, but he was well aware that Narcissa and Lucius were devoted to each other and both care deeply for their son, who cared just as deeply for them in return. He had to give Voldemort this much; he was good at working out punishments that would really punish the person they were intended for. There was no way Draco would succeed in his mission, not on his own, and his death would destroy both Lucius and Narcissa. He turned the corner on the street the shop was meant to be on, and couldn't help but smile.

Fred and George's shop hit the eye like one of their fireworks. The window on the left hand side was full of an assortment of goods that revolved, popped, flashed, bounced and shrieked. The window on the right hand side was covered in a gigantic purple poster, very much like the ones that the Ministry had been pasting up everywhere. In flashing yellow letters, was written:

 _Why Are You Worrying About You-Know-Who?_ _  
You SHOULD Be Worrying About_ _  
U-NO-POO -  
the Constipation Sensation That's Gripping the Nation!_

Chris laughed lightly, making a mental note to purchase whatever it was that U-NO-POO was, and send it to Wyatt and Voldemort. And then he would make sure he would be nowhere near them when they received it; perhaps he would charm the packages to make them think they were from a loyal follower. He stepped into the shop; finding it somewhat difficult to get past the gaggle of giggling shoppers who were crowded around every display in the store.

"Mon captain!" Two loud voices called over to him. Chris relaxed, settling his expression into one of an amused smirk, watching as Fred and George pushed their ways towards him.

"Good to see you two," he said sincerely. He like the pair, they always entertained him. "Quick question, how would one go about placing a large order?" he asked, before they could open his mouth. "I've got a feeling this upcoming year is going to be ... slow," he said, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Fred grinned over. "You say the word, and you get what you need." George nodded his agreement.

"It'll be free publicity," he pointed out, with both his and his twin's grins increasing at the thought. Chris couldn't help but give his own grin in return, the giddy feeling in the shop was overwhelming. "So, what do you think mon captain?" George questioned.

"I'm impressed boys, deeply impressed," Chris admitted, looking around the store. "You've got the perfect business here. You were right; school really wasn't for you." He gave a sigh. "Almost a pity we won't be putting up with Umbitch this year, I'd love the chance to try out some of this stuff on here," he said, picking up a box and studying the back of it.

"We were expecting you earlier," Fred said, taking the box from him and placing it in a newly conjured floating basket. "But Hagrid said a cousin of yours showed up and you went off with them for a bit. Just dump whatever you want in there," he added, gesturing to the basket.

"Yeah, gotta keep the family happy, you understand," Chris said, inspecting a few more boxes, and placing the ones he deemed worthy into the basket. "They do have a tendency to show up when I least expect them to, and attempt to annoy the hell outta me."

"You've got a good discount in here, by the way," George added, throwing in a few products he thought Chris would find useful, as well as deeply entertaining. "So, how does that work? I thought your family were all dead," he said, displaying the same grasp of tact that Ron possessed.

"Doesn't stop them showing up," Chris muttered, side stepping to avoid being ran over by a small group of about three pre-teen girls, who were apparently trying to convince an elder girl to buy a few Daydream Charms for them. "You cater to people's lust. Gotta love capitalism," he said to the twins. They grinned.

"It might not work they way they'd hope," said Fred, grinning slyly.

"Do you honestly think we wouldn't have worked out a fail-safe, just in case?" George added casually, looking up at the shelves, seemingly counting the number of empty ones. They eventually reached the counter, and gave Chris the final total for his purchases, something which Chris was fine with paying, pulling out a bag of coins and handing it to them.

"I'm not so good with the money system you got going on here," he explained. Within a few minutes it was sorted, and Chris orbed his goods back to the Burrow. "Gentlemen," he grinned up at Fred and George, "this year is going to be ... legendary."

  



	7. Chapter 7

"Now remember, Chris dear," Mrs. Weasley said, straightening the lapels of Chris' new jacket, as they stood on platform 9 and ¾, "you've to come to us for Christmas this year. Can't have you wandering about the manor on your own," she added in a soft mutter, brushing as his shoulders. Though he was tempted to just throw her off him, Chris allowed her to continue with her little habits, finding it oddly nice to be fussed over in a way that wasn't linked to anything other than a simple motherly instinct.

"Yes Molly," he sighed slightly, getting back the amused laugh that was forcing its way forward. "Now, not that this witty little conversation we've got going here isn't fascinating, but I think I should be jumping on to this train now," he said, smirking, though admittedly it was a fonder smirk that he would usually allow for.

"Oh, yes, yes," Mrs. Weasley fussed again. "And do think of writing this term please," she said. "I do think it might help you in the long run, having someone to write, well not home to, but to write to at any rate." That confirmed Chris' thoughts: Mrs. Weasley was just the latest in a line of mature women who had opted to take on the mother role in his life. Was there a sign hanging over his head betraying his mother issues?

"I'll consider it," Chris sighed, jumping on to the Hogwarts Express before Mrs. Weasley could express her annoyance at this reply. He did find the woman sweet, but he would be lying if he didn't admit she was extremely overbearing at times. He noticed her running over to fuss over Harry, and couldn't help but laugh slightly. Give that woman all the orphans in the world, even though there would be no way for her to afford it, Chris would place good money on her trying to adopt them all. He stood waiting, watching as Harry got on the train and spoke to Ginny, noticing the confused look on his face as Ginny walked away. "Alright, Wonder Boy, eyes back in the head," he called loudly.

"Chris," Harry rolled his eyes. He was almost completely resigned to the comments that the other boy would make, having gotten used to them throughout the summer. Still, Harry did sometimes wish that he would attempt to take some situations a little more seriously than he did. "Want to get a compartment then?"

"I contacted my minions, they said they would," Chris waved his hand vaguely. "Of course, they then said that they were arriving in Hogsmede a day early because Dumbledork the Batty wanted to speak to Minion number one, so I'm pretty sure that my answer is going to be in the realms of yeah, sure, whatever." He punctuated the end of his sentence with a little shrug, showing complete apathy towards the subject. Harry stared slightly, yet again amazed at how could turn what should have been a two-word sentence into a ramble.

"Hi Harry! Hi Chris!" a familiar voice from behind them called.

"Neville!" Harry turned to their fellow Gryffindor in relief, watching as Neville struggled towards them. He would help, but he knew that Neville would refuse the help; he always did try to live up to the reputation of pride that was connected with those in Gryffindor House. Harry vaguely wondered if it was things like that which had Chris remarking on how stupid their house was.

"Hello Harry, hello Chris," said Luna, from her position just behind Neville. Chris grinned widely, orbing over beside her and pulling her into a one armed hug, something which did gain odd looks from the boys, but Luna took her in stride.

"Ah, my dear, darling, Lunar," Chris said loudly, ruffling her hair slightly, as he knew it vaguely amused her. "How was Sweden? Did you find your Crumble-Horned Snorbacks then?" he asked, in genuine wonderment.

"Unfortunately no," Luna said. "Daddy thinks we may have arrived during their mating season though, which is when they are usually quite scare." She looked disappointed, and Chris gave her another short squeeze.

"Never mind my little Galadriel-to-be," he said with a grin, "we'll go search during half-term, alright?" he promised her. "It'll be a good break from the prison." Luna giggled lightly.

" _The Quibbler_ still going strong then?" Harry asked.

"Oh yes," Luna beamed. "Circulation's well up," she turned to Chris. "Daddy says thank you for your article on casting runes. It was most enlightening, and we got sackfuls of letters in response," she grinned widely. "Would you write something on Nargles? You do write so nicely," she added, her grin getting wider, if it were even possible.

"I'll need to do a little research into them, but yeah, sure." Chris grinned. "We getting seats then? Or shall our beauty decorate the hallway? Well," he paused, looking amongst the four of them, "mine and Lunar's beauty," he gave a pitying look to Harry and Neville, "you two just don't quite cut it I'm afraid." Harry threw Chris a mocking glare, while Neville frowned, before rolling his eyes. Chris was unsure of how to feel about the reactions, he never expected they would get used to him. It was ... well it wasn't an unpleasant feeling that was certain.

The four of them set off through the train, passing through the hordes of silently staring students. When they finally found an empty compartment, Harry hurried inside gratefully, Chris remembering that he hated the attention the magical community seemed to lavish on him. It was a similar situation for Chris himself, but he had forced himself to get used to it. Well, more to the point, Wyatt had forced him to get used to it, but that was another story entirely. Neville expressed an odd form of hero worship at the staring, as Luna seemed oblivious to it.

Chris suddenly realised why Neville always seemed so clumsy – people expected it of him. He planned to work on that with the kid; he was a pretty cool guy to know when he wasn't so worried about what his Grandmother expected of him.

"Are we still doing the DA meetings this year, Harry?" Luna asked, detaching a pair of rather psychedelic looking spectacles from the middle of her copy of  _The Quibbler._  She had handed Chris a copy of the paper when they entered the compartment, and he had gleefully exchanged his sunglasses for the spectacles, declaring that he would start a new fashion trend with them. The scary part of that was that it was highly likely; the week after Chris had shown up to breakfast three days in a row with his top on inside out, it had become the norm for Hogwarts students to wear their school shirts the wrong way, and their robes inside out.

"No point now we've got rid of Umbridge," Harry pointed out. It was at this point that Chris adopted his usual habit of muting the conversation, settling in to read a battered looking copy of the Tales of Beetle the Bard. Luna's father had given him this copy during the holidays, and, well, Chris had always had a soft spot for fairy tales. The ones told within the magical community were a far cry from the tales of good triumphing over evil that his mother had told when he was small though. That didn't mean they were any the less entertaining. He had become particularly interesting in the tale of the Three Brothers, a voice in his head telling him to take note of it.

"You ask him!"

"No, you!"

"I'll do it!" At that, a bold looking girl with large dark eyes and long black hair pushed her way through the door and into their compartment. Chris looked up with scorn, noting the way that her nose had wrinkled slightly in disgust at the sight of Neville and Luna. He pulled Luna back slightly, letting her rest against his shoulder, his arm draping over her. A vivid image, if nothing else, at least, to this girl. "Hi, Harry, Chris," she said, nodding to them both, "I'm Romilda, Romilda Vane." Her voice was annoying loud, Chris was displeased to discover. "Why don't you both come join us in our compartment? You don't have to sit with  _them_ ," her voice dropped to a stage whisper as she indicated Neville and Luna.

Chris looked down, an eyebrow cocked, meeting eyes with Luna. She gave him a small shrug, and he looked over at Harry, who was looking how Chris felt: vaguely pissed off. "They're friends of mine," he said coldly.

"And leave our exceptionally cool friends for you? Let me ponder it for a moment." After a second's thought, Chris shifted, as if he was leaving. Romilda's face lit up, as if all her Christmas wishes were coming through, before prompted deflating as it became apparently Chris was only leaning over to pick up his dropped psychedelic spectacles, which he promptly replaced on his face. "No dice sugah," he said, adopting a thick Boston accent.

"Oh. Oh, OK." She left.

"People expect you to have cooler friends than us," Luna pointed out. Chris frowned at this, as did Harry. "Though, they do seem to believe we're dating," she added, turning round slightly to look up at Chris. "I expect it's because you are nicer to me."

"Lunar, people are idiots, I've been telling you that long enough," he said with a small scowl.

"You mean, you aren't dating?" Harry asked, blinking slightly. Chris looked over at him, glancing once at Neville. From the looks on their faces, it appeared both boys were under the belief that Chris and Luna were dating.

"No," Luna said serenely. "We're not dating, but he does love me." A silence filled the compartment, as Harry and Neville both turned to stare at Chris with incredulous looks. He shifted slightly in his seat, for once not enjoying the attention, before springing to his feet.

"Sorry to love you and leave you Lunar," he said, "but I've got someone to hunt down, and he can be very good at hiding when he puts a bit of effort into it." Luna nodded, turning back to her magazine. Chris left the compartment quickly, before either of the two boys could open their mouths to question her earlier statement, which appeared to have stunned them into silence. In the corridor, he took a deep breath. He hadn't quite expected Luna to come out with that, but couldn't deny what she said. She was right, and she knew she was right. Shaking his head slightly, he set off down the hallway, clearly a man on a mission.

 **xXx**

"Nice glasses," Nott said dryly, leaning against the doorway to his compartment. "They make you look like the person you should be."

"... Is this about me growing up in San Francisco again?" Chris sighed. Nott had put forth a theory that the place where he grew up had turned Chris into one of the gayest straight men he knew. His evidence was in that he could cook exceptionally well - Chris claimed this was due to his mother, which didn't explain why Wyatt was such a terrible cook - that he had a good dress sense - Chris pointed out that again, he grew up in a family of mainly females - he could play piano - due to the advanced courses he'd been placed on in school when they had thought him a genius because he was constantly reading, the academic stuff didn't work out, but the piano lessons stuck – and that he constantly referred to himself as being 'pretty'. To this last comment, Chris had just stared, and asked Nott to deny it.

He couldn't.

Of course, there was one slightly downside to the theory, which actually had nothing to do with the theory itself. It was that Nott did happen to mention this particular theory in front of Kna'l, a demon with a large body mass and a ferocious temper, who everyone knew better than to cross, and who just so happened to be in a committed gay relationship.

Suffice to say, Kna'l wasn't pleased.

"I was just pointing out that the evidence amounts against you," Nott said, a small amused grin on his face. "How's life been with the white hats?" he asked, moving into the compartment and sitting down, Chris following behind him.

"Not as bad as you might think," Chris admitted. "Sure, Granger's the only one capable of holding a conversation that consists of words that have over three syllables in them, but they're pretty easy to deal with." He shrugged. "All they want is a quiet and happy life, I can respect that."

"Understandable," Nott nodded. "And I'd forgotten about Granger," he said. "As far as mud... muggleborns go, she's not entirely terrible."

"Wow, Nott," Chris said, completely deadpan, "calm down with the rushes of affection there. I don't think proposing marriage after Arithmancy would be the best course of action here." Nott rolled his eyes, a reaction that seemed to be happening more and more frequently today for Chris. "Seriously though man, no hateful jibe towards her?"

"I may be a Slytherin, and Death Eater to be, but even I can admit that there must be something flawed in our logic when the brightest witch of our year happens to come from no magical background," Nott said, a thoughtful look on his face.

"And again, I find myself asking the question to which I am yet to receive an answer," Chris said, leaning forward in his seat. "Do you actually wanna do that with your life?" he asked. "Follow in Daddy Dearest footsteps into a hate that you, yourself, has pointed out is flawed?" Nott looked towards the floor.

"It is not a matter of what I want to do Chris," he said softly, "it's what's expected of me as a young pureblood wizard, the heir to the Nott family fortune."

"I'm quickly learning here that the pureblood society that you are revere so much?" Chris said. "Yeah, it totally sucks, man." He sighed, and leant back in his seat. "I mean, you have to follow a plan that's set out for you, even if it's nowhere near what you really want, because it's what's 'expected.' You're not allowed to comfort a grieving family member because their parents was disowned..."

"How is she?" Nott cut in quickly. "Luperca?" Chris looked up, frowning over at him. Besides the Malfoys, who were cousins of the family, he had never heard anyone else on Wyatt's side talk of any of his little minions – excluding Sid, though she was more Wyatt's ... whatever the term they were using to define their relationship now – and he was almost sure that the Elders had though to only give them passing memory of them. Now, it was possible he was wrong, since he was gathering the majority of his information from comic books, but still, clarification was a beautiful thing.

"Grieving badly," he said. "You know her?"

"We were engaged, for quite some time actually," Nott answered, looking down towards the floor of the compartment. "Another part of old pureblood family society, the society that you so hate."

"Then explain it to me."

Nott sighed. "Some families, to promote friendship and create links which encourage growth within their own personal wealth, tend to marry off children at a young age. A marriage contract, if you will. It's an old practice, and largely out of touch now, but, well, my father is an old fashioned wizard, and Luciuis Malfoy has always wanted stronger links with the Nott family," he paused. "We're the older blood, you see, purer in his eyes. So, when they were landed with custody of Luperca after her father was arrested, well it was the golden opportunity."

Chris stared, once again reaffirming his belief: high society pureblood standards? Completely and utterly  _sucked_.

"We got to know each other with the knowledge that we'd one day be married," Nott shrugged. A look of deep concentration appeared on his face, as though he were trying to decide something. "She was ... pleasant," he said finally. "The engagement was only broken off at the beginning of the summer there," he added, in a softer voice. "Father found out that she was no longer residing with the Malfoys, and spending more time in the company of blood traitors and 'filthy mongrels'." Off Chris' look, he held up his hands. "His words, not mine. You know I have no problem with werewolves." Chris nodded.

"So ... you like her?" Chris asked, studying Nott carefully for a reaction, even if it were just the tiniest flicker. Unsurprisingly, Nott simply shrugged, face clear, unable to answer the question. Chris nodded at this response, and leaned further back into his seat, looking up towards the luggage rack above his head. He had to hand it to the Elders, they'd really went into great detail on their little clay people. It seemed to suggest that their lives weren't completely reliant on him, which was something he'd feared. He couldn't live his own life without screwing it up, to have three others depending on him? It wasn't a situation he particularly wanted to have to deal with.

After a while, the compartment door slid open, and a breathless third-year girl stepped through. "I'm supposed to deliver this to Chris H-Halliwell," she said, her voice faltering slightly as she looked up at Chris. He took the scroll, and waved the girl out of the compartment with a bored manner. Nott looked amused by this.

"You've really got the arrogant royal thing down, you know that?" he commented. Chris threw a chocolate frog package at him. "So, what's in the scroll then?" Chris shrugged, undoing the ribbon and opening the scroll so that he could find out what was in it.

' _Chris,_ _  
I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C.  
Sincerely, Professor H.E.E Slughorn.'_

"It's a summons," Chris said slowly. "From a Professor Slughorn," he looked up at Nott with a shrug. "New Defence teacher? Or will Gandalf surprise us this year?" he questioned lightly. Nott gave his own small shrug in response. "Should I go, d'ya think?" he asked, staring down at the scroll as if it were written in a foreign language.

"Might as well," Nott said. "I've heard of Slughorn. You should find it vaguely amusing if anything," he told Chris. Chris looked up.

"That's your advice, knowing full well if you're wrong, I'll see to it you're severely hurt?"

"That's my advice." Chris nodded, considering this.

"Then I'll go."


	8. Chapter 8

Compartment C had been magically expanded to such ridiculous luxurious standards, that Chris was seriously considering just torching the place, as it would be a kindness to the compartment. "Chris, m'boy!" The man Chris assumed with Professor H.E.H Slughorn jumped from his seat on seeing him, his large velvet-covered stomach seemingly filling the rest of the free space in the compartment. "Such an honour, m'boy, to meet you. Such an honour," he said, grabbing Chris' hand and shaking it thoroughly. "Now, do you know everyone?" he asked, waving a hand round at the fellow guests.

"I'll work it out," Chris interjected quickly. "I'm a quick study," he smirked, taking the empty seat beside Harry. Slughorn looked flustered for only a moment before returning to his previous beaming expression, retaking his seat quickly and looking out at them all in a way that was reminiscent of an indulgent uncle. Chris fought back the small shudder he wanted to let out; he had the oddest feeling this was going to be an afternoon of being kissed up too. He hated that.

"Well now, this is most pleasant," he said. "A chance to get to know you all a little better. Here, take a napkin, I've packed my own lunch ..." Chris began muting out the conversation, glad that he had had the patience to learn that particular little whitelighter trick when he was younger. It wasn't a case of not finding what these people were saying as interesting it was ... well actually it was. He found them all to be completely boring, and he wasn't quite sure why he tried to pretend otherwise. He knew his whole life was one big pretence, but maybe, he felt, he should try for a little more honesty in there as well. It would be a turn up for the books, at the very least.

"Now, Christopher, or is it Chris?" Slughorn's voice broke through the muting – it was usual when his name was mentioned. Chris looked up, and adopted a deep scowl.

"It's Chris," he said through gritted teeth. Slughorn beamed at him, ignoring the edge in his tone.

"Now Chris, you are another little celebrity, aren't you?" he said jovially, proving that he was deliberately ignoring the annoyance and slight hatred that was clear on Chris' face. "Almost equal to our own Harry here. But, of course," he said, pausing deliberately, "you're the second child aren't you? It would be your elder brother who has the lion's share of power within your family, am I correct?" he asked. Chris didn't respond, staring deliberately at the table, forcing himself to remain calm, reminding himself that burning a Professor was a bad thing that would get him kicked out of schoo... Hang on, since when did he actually carte about getting kicked out of Hogwarts? He hated the place, so why the hell was he trying to calm himself so he could remain there? "If the reports are true, you yourself are quite limited in your power," Slughorn gave a small laugh, "but talented enough with potions and thinking on your feet."

"... It might be the case." There was an odd shade to Chris' face, as though he were physically in pain with what Slughorn was saying. Harry, when thinking on it, would have considered it to be entirely possible.

" _Oho_ ," Slughorn said with a small tone of joy. "So that's how you play it is it? I've heard a lot about you dear boy," he informed him. Chris was suddenly very aware of just how quiet the rest of the guests were being. He was also aware that Slughorn knew a little more than Chris liked people knowing, and began wondering where the hell it was that he had gotten hold of his information. Chris wouldn't put it past this guy to have connections in the Underworld. "And about your family. Rumours suggest you know exactly how Piper Halliwell fell." There was a sudden intake of air from the three Gryffindors in the room, as they carefully shifted their chairs out from under the table, the best to make a quick escape with. This was  _not_  going to end well. "Now, despite how horrible it may be, my dear boy, it is something that needs to be shared with the larger magical community. To ease your pain," he added quickly. "A memoir of sorts, from the view of the only remaining Halliwell. I know someone in the publishing bus..."

"Shut. Up."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Shut up now and you'll make it to the feast tonight without a single mark on you," Chris said, looking with Slughorn with unbridled hatred in his eyes. "My mother's death is not something for you to use to gain another famous 'friend' you stupid overgrown walrus," he hissed. The rest of the table, following Harry, Neville, and Ginny's leads, began shifting away slowly. "Neither is the passing of the rest of my family. In fact, you wanna keep living your pathetic little waste of a life Sluggy?" he said. "You keep your mouth closed, and never dare to mention any of my family again." An unspoken threat hung in the air. Chris stood from the table, and orbed out.

Slughorn looked round. "... Oh dear." He said quietly. He hadn't meant to hurt the boy; that was the furthest thing from his intentions. Dumbledore had mentioned how much difficulties the boy was having with expressing his grief, and he had only thought that perhaps writing something in tribute would help him. He looked down at the table, as the rest of the guests departed, not quite sure what to say to him. He would need to find a way of apologising to Chris. But how? It was ... a perplexing situation. He only hoped he would be able to come up with a suitable solution sooner rather than later.

 **xXx**

When Chris reappeared he set straight off into a walk, banging doors as loudly as he could manage, and generally throwing a typical teenage stroppy fit. He eventually came to the room he was looking for and threw himself into the chair in front of the desk, leaning forward to bury his head in his arms, leaning on to the desk, hiding his face deliberately, and muffling any sounds that happened to come from him. "I take it there is a reason for this temper tantrum?"

"Fuckin' new teacher," Chris said, though his voice was deeply muffled. "Kept going on ... trying to get me to ..." his voice trailed off. "Wanted to know about Mom's death." Wyatt sat back in his chair, before getting up, and moving over to kneel in front of his little brother. "Stupid fuckin' ... write a book on it, a memoir he called it."

"Chris, Chris its okay," Wyatt said soothingly, for once sounding like a brother instead of the head of an evil empire. He attempted to remove his brother's head from under his arms with no success. "Chris, its fine. You don't have to if you don't want to. This teacher can't make you do anything relating to your personal life that you're uncomfortable with." Wyatt was at this point seriously thinking over a suggestion Sid had made to him, out of concern for Chris. It would work in his favour, and allow him a small rest bite from Thomas' constant 'concerns.' It would also allow him, most importantly, to keep an eye on his little brother. Whatever had happened the day that their mother had been killed, it had deeply affected Chris to the point of it being able to stop him dead. Wyatt himself had no idea what had happened, he had actually been at detention while  _it_  happened. He had come home to the sight of his brother covered in their mother's blood, sobbing brokenly over her. Leo hadn't come when Chris called. Wyatt had almost killed their father for what he did. As a consequence of whatever happened, being forcibly reminded of it turned Chris into the young child Wyatt could remember crying when hearing Leo was too busy to come to the ballgame he had  _promised_  that they would all go to.

Wyatt wondered if the fact that he hated his father because of the way he treated his brother was a sign of some kind of lingering 'goodness' in him, as Chris would put it.

"Wyatt, I don't wanna be there anymore," Chris said quietly. "He's a fame leech, he won't stop..."

"You're not going to be there alone," Wyatt insisted. "Not anymore." He stood, and moved over to his intercom. It was a new toy of his, and he was quite proud of it. It was definitely easier on his throat. "Viktor?" he called into it, getting a crackling noise in return, letting him now that Viktor could hear him. "Tell Thomas I want him in my office now will you?" He sat down in his seat and waited, knowing it would only be a few moments until Thomas arrived. He kept an eye on Chris, who still hadn't moved.

"You called on me, my Lord?" Voldemort arrived, bowing slightly to Wyatt, hiding his surprise at seeing Chris there. Although it was no secret that the two didn't get on, they attempted to remain civil in front of Wyatt, and judging by the expression on the elder Halliwell's face, this would be one of those times where insulting the child would not work in his favour. "Is ... there a problem?"

"I'm going to be a taking a period of leave," Wyatt replied briskly. "Lord Christopher has informed me of an interesting situation taking place at Hogwarts that warrants a closer observation on my part." He spoke briskly, moving around his office bedroom with ease, packing what he felt he would need to appear to the staff of the school to be a model pupil. "I am leaving you in a state of command, I expect you to use it wisely and to not run my followers into the ground," he added sternly, knowing how Voldemort viewed some of those who agreed with Wyatt's way of thinking.

"My Lord, is this at all wise?" Voldemort said, attempting to hide the look of pure glee on his face. Wyatt rolled his eyes in response. How often it was that Thomas 'forgot' that he was speaking to the most powerful magical being in the world. "But of course," he added hastily, "far be it from me to question your wise judgement."

"Indeed," Wyatt replied dryly. There was a pause, as his hands lingered over the case he was packing. "Tell Sid I took her advice, won't you?" he said, moving quickly to close the case. Voldemort stared at his back, taking it as the unspoken order to leave the room. When Voldemort had left, Wyatt turned back to Chris. "Chris?" he called softly. "Can we orb into this school?"

Chris slowly pushed his head up, eyes red rimmed, a clear sign that he might have been doing the one thing he claimed never to do; cry. "You'll need to manipulate your orbing into appearing like whitelighter orbs," he let out a small bitter laugh, "it fuckin' hurts, but it works."

"You've done it before?" Wyatt couldn't help but sound suspicious; it just came out with his words. Chris wiped his eyes on his sleeve before throwing Wyatt a scathing look.

"If I didn't they would have worked me out the minute I appeared to them Wy," he said slowly, leaning back in his hair. "The pain isn't something you'll get used to either. You're completely forcing change in every molecule, and Wy, this plan is completely idiotic. They think you're dead!" he said, suddenly realising what it was his brother had planned and snapping quickly back to his usual self. Wyatt hid his smirk. "Not to mention, you're risking losing everything to Snake Boy! Have you completely lost your mind?"

"Chris, I have not lost my mind, my place will work, and we can it explain it all by saying I cast a spell on you to make you believe I was dead," Wyatt said calmly. "I have been considering this for a while, and it's simple enough. It's well known that I am powerful. Surely it can be assumed that out of concern for my brother's safety I made him unaware of my being alive." There were a few moments of silence, as Wyatt allowed Chris time to consider every avenue of this plan. Evidentially Chris was too tired to fully consider it, because he simply slumped forward in his chair, and sighed.

"Follow me."

 **xXx**

"Professor Snape, meanwhile, will be taking over the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," Dumbledore said, raising his voice so it carried over all the muttering from the students. Chris and Wyatt stood, leaning against the doors into the Great Hall, listening to the announcements carefully. At the announcement, Chris turned to face Wyatt, an eyebrow raised in questioning. Wyatt shook his head, slightly surprised. They turned again, listening as the room fell silent. "Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength." There was a pause, as Dumbledore allowed the full meaning of these words to sink into his students. "I cannot emphasise strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle's magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways," here Wyatt couldn't help but slip into a rather sinister looking smirk. They would have increased the protection on the exterior of the castle, but not the interior.

"But we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that your teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them – in particular, the rule that you are not to be out of bed after hours. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately."

Chris let out a small snort. "Not likely Gandalf."

"I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and each other's safety." There was another brief pause. "But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say goodnight. Pip, pip!" There was a deafening scraping noise, and Chris nodded his head for Wyatt to follow him. Slowly, and deliberately, the pair made their way into the Great Hall, well aware that every set of eyes were on them. Dumbledore stood from his seat, looking directly at Chris and Wyatt, his blue eyes devoid of their usual twinkle, so much so that Chris couldn't help but smirk. The man thought he always knew what was going on; it was fun to confuse him on occasion. "Chris..." he began, looking at Wyatt with a questioning glance. Chris checked the table to make sure Cole wasn't there before providing his explanation.

"He wasn't dead."

"So it would appear."

"I should explain," Wyatt said, with a good natured smile to the Professors. "It's been nearly three years since Chris has seen me. After our mother ... well, I opted to go after the demons on my own," he said, bowing his head as though this were incredibly painful for him to talk about. It was possible that thinking on his mother's death did hurt, but who knew really? "But there was always the worry that they would go after my brother, thinking he would know where I was. I couldn't let that happen to Chris. So... I made him believe me dead." The Professors stared, obviously not sure whether to believe him or not. On the one hand, surely Chris of all people would be able to tell if someone had modified his memory, yet on the other it was well known – well rumoured – of just how powerful Wyatt Halliwell was meant to be. "And now, well, the demons are dealt with, and I felt like I should attempt to finish my education in some way. Especially if the rumours of the Source being back are true."

"And where do you intend to continue this education?" McGonagall, looking at Wyatt carefully down her nose. She noticed how quiet Chris was being, but wondered if she was just imagining it.

"Here, if you would allow me," he asked Dumbledore, putting on his most earnest smile. "Of course, I would understand if it was a problem..." he trailed off, shooting a quick, unnoticeable glare at Snape.

"Headmaster," Snape said, in his usual disinterested tones, "it would work in our favour to have both Halliwell boys here," his voice dropped slightly, "if the elder has even a fraction of the power he is rumoured to have..." he let his voice trail off deliberately as Dumbledore nodded, understanding Severus' meaning.

"We'll need to have you Sorted," Dumbledore said, looking directly at Wyatt. "As for what year, I think it would be wise to place you in the same year as your brother. Perhaps," he said, looking between the two, "you will be the good influence he needs to actually sit and complete his work." Wyatt smiled.

"Of course ... sir."

 **xXx**

The music blared in the Gryffindor common room, as Chris reclined on one of the more comfortable armchairs in the room. The ones in the upper two years had opted to hang around for the impromptu party, shooing the younger students away to their beds, saying that they were too young and not quite used to the early rises yet. Wyatt sat in amongst a large group of females, all of whom appeared to be hanging on his every syllable. Chris laughed slightly at the sight, watching as Hermione split from the group, coming over to sit with him. "Not interested in my brother's heroic tales of daring do then Beautiful?"

"Oh no, they're very interesting," she said with a wide smile. "I was just wondering how you were. After all, finding out your brother put a spell on you to make you believe he was dead? I can't even imagine how awful it must have felt to find out it was all a lie."

"Beautiful," Chris began, "it was a relief. Knowing that I wasn't alone? That Wy was alive? I'm awesome, he's awesome, and together we are the brothers of awesomeness."

"Are you quite sure Chris?" Hermione asked a look of concern on her face. Chris gave her a small smile, nodding. "If you're sure then..." she trailed off, not really sounding convinced, but not wanting to insult Chris or offend either of the brothers. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go to my bed."

"That an invitation?"

"I'm choosing not to answer that," she replied, smirking at him just slightly through her blush, as she quickly made her way up the stairs to the sixth year girl dorm. Dog padded over, rubbing his head against Chris' hand, determined to get a small portion of the attention he was used to getting in the school, and since the girls who usually fussed him were currently occupied by his Master's brother, his Master would need to go. Dog didn't like his Master's brother; he always made him do things that ended up with his Master being hurt in some way. Even though it was usual for hellhounds to actually form attachments to people, Dog was fond of his Master, and would protect him till the end. As long as he gave him the right amount of attention, that is.

"Hey boy," Chris smiled, scratching Dog behind his ear. "You're not liking having Wy monopolise all the attention, huh?" Dog didn't answer him, but Chris knew he was working along the right lines. "Don't worry 'bout it boy. He's just the new toy for them, they'll return to lavishing you with attention soon enough," he assured the hellhound, who looked up at him amused, before lying down in front of the fire. It always had been his favourite place to sleep. "That actually seems like a good idea boy," he said softly, looking over at Wyatt who was still entertaining the masses. "Sleep, 'cause I'm sure I'm gonna need all the energy I can get."


	9. Chapter 9

"Chris, Chris, wake up, you're going to miss breakfast," Ron said, throwing a book on to Chris' bed, hoping the impact would waken him. "No, he's in a deep sleep alright."

"Who's in what sleep Weasel?" Chris asked, entering the room adjusting the sleeves on his top. Ron looked between him and the bed, and Chris sighed. "Dog, get out of my bed. You'll stink it up," he said, glancing over at the bed beside him. "I see the Golden Child is still asleep," he muttered softly. "Tell ya what Dog, you get up quick enough, you can jump on my darling brother to get him up." Dog, as one might suspect, jumped at this chance to annoy Wyatt, slobbering all over the blonde. Wyatt pushed Dog off him with a scowl, turning round to see Chris in conversation with another boy. "So get the dungbombs, low level though, we don't want to stink the place out completely today, and maybe a couple of the glitter bomb things, mark our return with a bit of class."

"Do you want any of the creeper fireworks? The ones that snake round before going off?" The boy asked Chris, noting what he had said carefully. Chris considered it.

"Nah, we're sort of going simple today," he said, "just to remind people we're alive, kicking. Anyway," there was a grin on Chris' face now, "I do have a little extra thing planned for this morning, so I'm hedging my bets so to speak." The boy nodded and moved off, and Chris turned to face Wyatt. "You getting up then Sleeping Ugly?" he asked. "No, seriously, you'll miss breakfast if you don't get up now," he said, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "I would take you to the kitchens if you miss it, but I'm not a fan of putting more work on those House Elves."

"You always were sympathetic towards Elves," Wyatt commented, pulling himself from the bed and grabbing clean clothes. "I wonder if I did the right thing with that little experiment," he muttered loudly enough for the rest of the dorm to hear. He never really was one for subtly when he'd been forced to get up early.

"Experiment?" Harry questioned once Wyatt had left the room to get ready. Chris turned to face Harry with a slight grin.

"When I was 5, Wy went through this period of experimenting with his magic, and he used me as his guinea pig." Harry frowned slightly, and Chris couldn't help but wonder what was bothering him. "One of his little experiments ended with me landing in the Golden Woods, home of the Golden Queen of the Elves herself." He smiled fondly at the memory. It had taken his family a while to reverse the spell – apparently though it was possible to cast someone into the Woods, the Elf magic surrounding the place made it near impossible to remove anyone from the place. He had lived there for a couple of months, in the Golden Queen's home, and picked up Elfish quicker than they had expected; though he did have his whitelighter side to thank for that.

"So how did you get home?" Harry asked, sounding as though he was forcing the politeness in his tone.

"Eventually Mom made me cast the spell again, taking her and I there," Wyatt explained, re-entering the room and overhearing the conversation. He laughed slightly. "Chris had been pretty much adopted by the Queen of the Elves, made into their Prince, and the Queen was heartbroken to see him return home," he finished, throwing a smirk to Chris, who scowled almost unnoticeably. He never quite knew why Wyatt always had to talk about things in a way that would embarrass him. Maybe it was just part of being an older brother, but then again, the ones here didn't know how cruel Wyatt could get. "So... breakfast?" he said brightly, looking round at everyone.

"Chris," Craig came barrelling back into the room with a grin. "We're sorted. Even managed to get a couple of those targeted Dungbombs Fred and George had as exclusives," he said with a mischievous grin. Chris grinned back, jumping up from his seat on the edge of his bed with a fervour Wyatt had never seen his brother posses before. "So, we start when?" Craig asked.

"When I give the signal and not a micro second before, Wereboy," Chris said. "Dog, get up. Food time."

 **xXx**

"What is it with the entire school having their eyes on me on the first day of term?" Chris mused out loud, stealing a newspaper from someone as he and his little group made their way over to an empty spot at one of the tables. "I mean, I know I'm the best looking person in this place, but still. The constant attention does get maybe a little tiring at times."

"Just a little?" Luna asked, looking up at Chris with a serene smile. Wyatt stood slightly to the back of the group, watching how they interacted. It was quite unusual for him; to see Chris being the one they all wanted to spend time with, the more important of the two brothers, especially when considering that was the role that usually fell to Wyatt himself. The elder always had been the more popular of the two brothers. However, it did give him the chance to work out what methods Chris used at this school to hide what his real reason for being there was. From what Wyatt was observing, Luna was the favoured one here, acting in a role that could be mistaken as a girlfriend. At least, Wyatt was fairly certain they weren't dating – the arm slung around Luna's shoulders was more of a brotherly gesture from Chris than a boyfriend one.

"I can't be disappointing my fans," Chris said, dropping into an empty seat and opening the Daily Prophet, beginning to read it with an amused looking grin. "Heh, they're reporting rubbish again," he clarified for the group, though it wasn't necessarily needed. "Though it's well written rubbish, so it can pass," he finished, closing the paper over and torching it.

Wyatt blinked.

"Since when do..." he began, before pausing. No, best not to question his little brother in front of these non-followers. It would never work in his favour, and besides which, Chris probably had a very valid and logical reason as to why he hadn't told him of his new control of fire. Yes, there was a good, valid, reason, and he would be soon be informed of it. It was most likely something to do with not wanting Thomas to use him. It wasn't as though Chris would deliberately hold information back for the sake of it. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't.

"I'm here."

"And about time too, Nott." Chris replied, not turning to face him. "Sit down and grab some food before we all have to wander off to ... well whatever it is I end up doing, and classes for that lot," he told him, grabbing at a cup of coffee for himself. The whole of the Great Hall was silent, watching the group with confusion and excitement. A Slytherin willingly sitting with four Gryffindors? Not to mention the weirdest Ravenclaw that ever existed? It had never been done before in Hogwarts history.

"We're sitting with a Slytherin?" Craig asked, Luperca frowning over in slight confusion.

"He's cool," Chris clarified. They nodded their heads and returned to their breakfasts with little complaint. Wyatt was impressed; it only took two words from Chris for them to accept a situation they wouldn't have otherwise. Clearly Chris was more of a leader than he ever let on. "Wereboy, Sweets, it's time," Chris said softly. Craig and Luperca nodded, waving their wands just slightly, and muttering under their breaths. The Great Hall was filled with explosions, a mixture of fireworks and Dungbombs. There were screams of laughter, and the usual outraged yells. Chris didn't even flinch, despite the explosion coming very near him. "So, what's the deal with the classes this morning? I'm figuring it isn't as cut and dry as it usually is right?" There was another bang, and chocolate frogs fell from nowhere. Chris smirked only slightly at it – it had taken him a while to work out a spell that would allow for the frogs to fall, remind intact, and not hit anyone. Judging by the happy yells, he had succeeded.

"Well, erm, these will be our NEWT level classes," Nott explained, eyes wide though he was following Chris' lead, and acting like nothing out of the ordinary was happening. "So, they'll take a little longer. It tends to be the reason why most first days of term have a double period first thing," he said, talking directly to Chris and Wyatt. "Basically we go talk to our Head of Houses about what classes to take and they sort out the timetable."

"Erm, which teacher is my Head of House?" Wyatt asked, not really knowing.

"We've got McGonagall," Chris said, with a slight grin. "Dangerous but fair," he summed up.

"Accept that she's the scariest person you'll ever meet and you'll do well," Nott added in, standing up. "And I need to return to my table, Snape's doing the rounds, and I want a word about dropping Ancient Runes this year." He left with little problem, though Chris kept an eye on the Slytherin table as Nott rejoined them. It wasn't that he didn't trust the Slytherins, too many of them were loyal to himself and Wyatt, it was that he didn't trust the other houses as far as he could throw them. This did segway his thoughts into wondering how the hell Wyatt had managed to get placed in Gryffindor house. Maybe being a Halliwell meant more than his actual personality. Speaking of which...

"Halliwell." McGonagall called, causing both Chris and Wyatt to stand and come over to her. It had been explained to them the night before that Wyatt would just be placed in the same classes as Chris, with the hope that he could keep up with the curriculum. This lead to Chris snorting, and saying that keeping up wasn't the problem. Needless to say, McGonagall hadn't been impressed. "I'm assuming you'll be wanting Transfiguration?" she asked Chris, who gave a small nod. "I hope you plan to hand in some work this time round. I know that you understand the work we're doing, the test results proved that, and I will not except sheer laziness as an excuse," she warned him.

"Got it Minnie," Chris replied, looking around. His gaze met Wyatt's, who just shrugged. It suited him to look as though he was just going with the flow, that he was just a good little Halliwell, looking forward to the year of learning fun. "Don't suppose I can get Defence and Potions?"

"Considering those were the two subjects you scored highest in, it would be cruel to leave you out of them," McGonagall noted, marking them down on her register.

"Cruel to me, or to the Professors?" Chris asked. McGonagall didn't dignify the question with an answer.

"Professor Flitwick expressed a small interest in seeing you return Charms for the NEWT level classes," McGonagall said. "He was mentioned that towards the end of the year last year you were attempting to work out a way to make wand magic comply with your own, which is interesting as I was under the belief that your wand was unable to cast even the simplest of spells." She looked up at him, studying his face slightly. Chris cursed loudly inwardly. Wyatt didn't know about the wand. He had a  _lot_  to explain to his brother. And knowing his temper...

"Well yeah," he said slowly. "The opposite natures of the materials used to create it cancel each other out, leaving what's basically a decorated stick." He began to rub at the back of his neck. "I figured that all magic has a lot of feeling behind it. If you know what's meant to happen with a spell, you should, in theory, be able to cast it with or without wand," he shrugged, ending somewhat pathetically if only because there was no other way to explain it. "So, yeah. Charms would be good, I guess."

McGonagall nodded, tapping her wand to two bits of parchment, handing them to the Halliwell's. "Good luck with the upcoming year," she said. And with that, Chris and Wyatt moved off. They had a free period before Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Chris just hoped Wyatt wouldn't opt to interrogate him during that time.

 **xXx**

"Bloody hell, Chris, what happened to you?" Ron asked, seeing the Halliwell boys join the end of the line outside their Defence classroom. Chris' face was a sight, with the beginnings of a black eye, as well as a swollen and split bottom lip, which was still bleeding slightly. Hermione turned on Ron's word, and gasped slightly. Harry just stared, still with that odd look in his eyes, Chris reckoned. Within a few short minutes all eyes were on Chris, and not in the way he usually preferred to be gawked at.

"I tripped," he muttered viciously. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his two minions exchange glances with disbelieving looks on their faces. Wyatt placed a reassuring hand on Chris' shoulder, the smile of a concerned big brother pasted on to his face.

"I keep telling you to be more careful Chris," he said, his grip on Chris' shoulder tightening just slightly. Chris forced himself not to wince – his shoulder was sore from where he had been rammed backwards into one of the many solid stone walls of the castle. "I don't want anything happening to my little brother, after all." He gave such a kindly smile that Chris himself might have even been fooled by his act for a micro-second.

The door to the classroom opened, and Snape stepped out into the corridor, causing a silence to fall immediately over the queue. "Inside." The classroom itself was gloomier than usual, with curtains drawn over the windows, and being lit only by candlelight. Upon the walls hung new pictures, many of which showed people who appeared to be in pain, or who sported grisly injuries, or strangely contorted body parts. Chris thought it a huge improvement over the room's decoration the year previously. "Very Tim Burton," Chris muttered to Wyatt, who looked around before nodding an agreement.

"I have not asked you to take out your books. I wish to speak to you and I want your fullest attention," Snape said, closing the door and facing the class from behind his desk. "You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe. Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion I am surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be much more advanced." Despite how it may have sounded to the rest of the class, Chris had the strongest feeling that Snape didn't mean this statement cruelly, but rather was attempting to state the facts of it all. It was usually kind of the man, and Chris couldn't help but wonder if finally getting the teaching position he had long wanted had done something to lighten Snape's disposition. Either that, or he found some sort of gleeful joy in hinting that the majority of the class would fail. Actually, when he thought on it, that was more likely to be the reason.

"The Dark Arts, are many, varied, ever-changing and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible." Chris fought the urge to turn to face Wyatt at what Snape was saying. The man had just proved why he was considered to have deep knowledge of the Dark Arts: he spoke about them as though they were his one true love, or something along those lines at any rate. "Your defences, must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the Arts you seek to undo. These pictures give a fair representation..."

And that was where Chris gave up paying attention to Snape. Not that he wasn't saying anything that Chris found interesting, it was just that, well, Chris knew firsthand what the pictures were representations of. In fact, he was nearly positive that they were his own hand-work. Actually, make that completely positive. He wondered what spell had been used to enlarge the photographs, and make them look as though they had been hand-painted. "You will now divide into pairs. One partner will attempt to jinx the other  _without speaking_. The other will attempt to repel the jinx  _in equal silence_. Carry on."

"We're doing what now?" Chris asked, looking around the room and blinking slightly. He really needed to stop the muting what the teacher is saying thing, it did him no favours in the long run. Wyatt pulled at his arm to get him up. "No, seriously, I wasn't paying attention. What're we meant to be doing?"

"Duelling without speaking," Wyatt replied, looking amused by it all, that small sadistic glint in his it. The glint was a fairly recent development, Chris noted, to an extent that he wasn't entirely sure if it was just him imagining seeing it there, or if it was actually there. "We have to pair up." No, Chris decided, he definitely  _wasn't_ imagining that sadistic glint. It was there, with the added joy that seemed to come with the idea that Wyatt was being told to attack his little brother – because of course they were going to pair up, it wasn't fair to the other students to make those who were used to this type of spell casting partner with someone who wasn't.

"Oh fantastic," Chris muttered, trying to prepare himself for whatever Wyatt would choose to throw at him. It didn't take long, within a few seconds he was flying backwards, crashing into one of the bookcases next to Snape's desk, with books falling off of the shelves, due to the impact of him. The class stopped, turning to look. "Ow, okay, that  _hurt_ ," he muttered, pushing himself off the ground as quickly as he could, before pushing his own hand forward, sending Wyatt tumbling backwards and hitting the wall. Wyatt retaliated by causing some jars from the top of the bookshelf to fall on to Chris – one of which broke, and caused a large cut on his arm, cutting through the material of his top, and slicing into the skin easily. This would have not usually been a problem had it not been for the fact that this was the arm that had only a few months previously been at the receiving end of one of Wyatt's energy balls. He fell down again, stumbling backwards to hit the bookcase once more.

"That is enough," the low hiss from Snape echoed in the silent classroom. "The purpose of the exercise was not to cause harm to your fellow students, but to block an attack," he said to the room at large, reaching down to help Chris up – which confused the Gryffindors in the room, why would Snape help one of them? "As these two have clearly shown to us, non-verbal magic can indeed be more destructive and harmful than that of verbal magic." Chris swayed a little on the spot, making Snape tut lightly, pulling out a bottle of what Chris recognised to be his own formula of healing potion of out a pocket in his robes. Chris took the potion with a small nod, deciding that now wasn't the time to point out that a job that meant you needed to carry healing potion on you probably wasn't worth the effort. Especially when he realised it was probably more for the students, than it was for the Professors. Snape looked around at the class, most of whom were still looking between the two brothers, and sighed irritably. "Class dismissed. Halliwells, stay behind."

The class emptied quickly, leaving Chris, who was leaning against Snape's desk looking quite pale, Wyatt, and Snape himself. "My Lords, though do I not by any way mean to criticise the ways in which you interact with each other, what you did there was downright irresponsible," he said, sounding very calm, in a stark comparison to the anger on his face. "You kne..."

"Do shut up Severus," Wyatt said, looking up at the ceiling of the room, bored out of his mind. "Chris can take far worse than that paltry little display we were putting on. Your stepping in was nothing more than an embarrassment, and something you should have known better than doing." Wyatt looked annoyed, shaking his head. "I'm going on my break now. Fill in whatever little form you need to say you punished me," he said with a scoff, leaving the room quickly. Chris remained where he was, still leaning on the desk, looking down at the ground.

"I don't care what Wy says, Sev," he muttered, "you stepped in at the right time. And ... well, thanks," he finished, standing up. "Don't worry, I'll make sure nothing happens," he said with a small nod, leaving the room. Snape stared at the door for a few minutes. Why was it that his Lords always left him feeling very confused?

 **xXx**

"You can't punish him for doing his job, Wy," Chris insisted, looking at his older brother incredulously. "He's a professor here, he has to make sure his lessons don't get too far out of hand," he said. "What we were doing was definitely out of hand."

"That is not the point, Chris!" Wyatt snapped. "He spoke out of turn."

"You suck at this undercover thing Wy," Chris said. "Get it through your skull, you have to play student while here. He was doing what he was expected to, nothing more." He sighed, rubbing at his eyes slightly, wincing when he noticed that the healing potion only seemed to have healed the injuries that he had suffered in the class, not the black eye and split lip. "Wy, just, let it go," he said, sounding tired. Wyatt frowned at the sound, looking over at him with a questioning glance.

"Fine," he said. "What class do we have next?" he asked. Chris pulled out the timetable to check. A scowl appeared immediately on his face.

"Potions."


	10. Chapter 10

  


When the two Halliwell brothers turned into the corridor in which the Potions classroom was located, they both noticed that they were two of roughly only a dozen students who were able to take the class at NEWT level. What this said about the Owl examination, Chris wasn't entirely sure, but it did suggest to him that he should probably start creating his own stock of healing potions, just to be on the safe side. From what students' ties told Chris, thatalong with himself, Wyatt, and the Golden Trio, four Ravenclaws, four Slytherins, and one Hufflepuff would also be taking the class for this year. The Hufflepuff, Ernie, Chris thought, had pushed his way over to speak with Harry, but hadn't got very far in his conversation as the dungeon door opened **,** and Slughorn peered out to welcome them all in. Chris scowled deeply.

 

There was  _no_  way he was going to enjoy having an overgrown walrus as a teacher.

Compared to what Chris could remember of his first lesson in the room from the previous year, it looked as though Slughorn had already done the class work for them. The class took different tables, with the four Ravenclaws and four Slytherins taking a table each for them. The Golden Trio sat with Ernie, which left Chris and Wyatt on their own, at the table nearest the door. This, Chris thought, would work well if Wyatt got any odd plans. He was fairly certain he could take his brother on in a fist fight, maybe.

"Now then, now then, now then," Slughorn said. Chris fought not to roll his eyes. He wasn't even in the class five minutes, and already he wanted to smack his teacher. "Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your copies of  _Advanced Potion Making_..." Chris exchanged glances with Wyatt who shrugged. Neither of them had any of the books for this year. Now, in Potions at least, it didn't really matter. Between what they had both learned from the Book of Shadows, Magic School, as well as their mother and her sisters, they had more than enough Potion knowledge to rewrite the course in a way which would probably let more students into the N.E.W.T class. In theory, at least; though Wyatt certainly had the knowledge, he never seemed any good at practical potions, or even cooking for that matter. Conversely, these were the areas in which Chris excelled without much of an effort. He felt it was the universe's way of trying to make up for being the 'baby brother' of the Twice-Blessed.

"Now then, I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know," Slughorn said, moving the front of the class so that everyone could clearly see him. He really was the type of enjoy being at the centre of attention, Chris thought. "These are the kind of thing you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.s. You ought to have heard of 'em, even if you haven't made 'em yet. Anyone tell me what this one is?" He asked, directing everyone's gaze to the cauldron sitting nearest the Slytherin table. Chris craned his neck slightly, looking at the potion with a guarded interest. It appeared to be nothing more than plain water boiling away.

"Veritaserum," he muttered softly, as Slughorn called on Hermione who, as anyone who knew even the slightest bit about the girl could tell you, gave the correct answer. She did the same for the next potion they were called upon to name. Admittedly, Polyjuice Potion was one of the few Chris didn't have any reasonable knowledge of, outside its ability to change a person's looks. He had heard, from some of the Death Eaters who had used the potion over the summer that it was incredibly foul, and the process of changing was very painful. It made Chris glad that he was able to cast glamours on himself, as he really didn't like the sound of the potion.

The third cauldron caught Chris' attention. Amortentia. "It's the most powerful love potion in the world," Hermione informed the class. Chris looked at the contents of the cauldron with a careful gaze. It was a very attractive looking potion. He supposed this was meant to relate to the idea that love was something deeply desirable, that all peoples should attain in their lifetimes. He resisted the urge to let out a disdainful snort. He liked the concept of love, he supposed, but he doubted it was meant for him, not while he was playing conscience for his seemingly amoral big brother. "It's supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and -" Hermione turned pink, and cut herself off. Chris gave a soft chuckle, forcing himself to at least try to block out the faintly sweet smell he was getting, realizing grimly that a person could go made trying to find the matching scent.

"Amortentia doesn't really create  _love_ , of course. It is impossible to manufacture of imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession," Slughorn explained to the room at large. Wyatt looked quite impressed by this, causing Chris to make a mental note, reminding himself to  _ **never**_ let Wyatt get his hands on this potion. He had enough followers as it was. "It is probably the most dangers and powerful potion in this room." Okay, now Chris was adamant that he was never letting Wyatt get his hands on any of this stuff; it would not work out for the best. "And now, it is time for us to start work."

Chris was ready to throttle Ernie when he spoke up, mentioning the small black cauldron sitting on Slughorn's desk. Slughorn, however, looked decidedly pleased. "Yes. That. Well,  _that_  one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis." Chris' face fell, and he swallowed nervously. Liquid luck. And,  _of course_ , Hermione knew what it was and was more than willing to share with everyone else. Chris slumped down in his seat, a strong desire to repeatedly hit his head off the hard work surface running through him. He didn't listen as Slughorn explained about the potion, Chris already knew about it. He had found out about it the year before, during one of his many skipped classes spent lazing around in the back of the library. "And that is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson."

Chris sat straight up. This pretty much confirmed all this thoughts about Slughorn. The man was an  _ **idiot**_. He listened to the explanations of what they had to do, noting with a grimace that the prize would either go to himself or Hermione. Actually, when he thought on it, it was more likely he would win due to Hermione's reluctance to go against the instructions way of making the potion. Much to his disappointment, Wyatt seemed to be aware of this fact as well.

"Win that," Wyatt hissed, his tone making it clear that it was in no way a request. Chris closed his eyes breathing deeply as he got to work. He could win it easily; the Draught of Living Death was one of those little potions he'd be making far too often lately, so it wasn't like he didn't know the quickest ways of getting the best results. If he did win, he wouldn't get the keep the potion, as nice as the thought of having a draught of it sounded. No, Wyatt would take it from him and use it for whatever aim he was considering most important that month, resulting in disaster for everyone who wasn't in his favour. If he didn't win, well, it'd make the black eye and split lip look like nothing. He considered every way he knew on how to sabotage the potion, trying to work out which ones in particular wouldn't seem like sabotage but rather a simple mistake anyone could make.

The answer stood out blindingly bright in his mind. Miscounting the stirs.

It could be done, Chris knew it, and in the steam of the dungeons it was easy to take a miscount as a genuine mistake, rather than a deliberate one. He would need to time it carefully as he seemed to be ahead of everyone else in the class. Again. It was a common occurrence for him, one that he was getting annoyed by, but that there wasn't much he could actually do about it. He paused when it came to stirring, looking into his cauldron as though he were simply inspecting the contents carefully, in the manner that Potions students were often advised to do. For the most part, this was what he was doing; it just happened that he was also focusing on which way to begin his stirring so as to make the potion not work.

Soon enough though, he worked it out, and began to stir incorrectly, going only in one direction, and not allowing time for settling between stirs. Inside, he was kicking himself for his actions. He hated mis-making potions, even if it was for a good reason. It just didn't seem right to him, though that could be because Potions were 'his thing', so to speak. Still, he couldn't let Wyatt get his hands on a bottle of Felix Felicis, the consequences of it were too dire for Chris to want to imagine.

"And time's ... up! Stop stirring, please!" Slughorn called. Chris bit back the sigh that wanted to come out when he glanced at Wyatt's potion. It wasn't a bad attempt, fairly good for a first try, but it certainly wouldn't win the potion. Chris' own, much to his displeasure, was actually better than he thought it might end up. His must have thrown in the right number of stirs without realising somewhere along the process of making it. It was very near what the finished result would look like, something which Slughorn noted with a pleased noise as he passed by, inspecting each cauldron. It was with a great sense of relief that he couldn't help but smile when Slughorn declared Harry as the winner of the potion.

Of course, it figured that the Boy Wonder would be the one to win.

He left the dungeon quietly, following behind Wyatt, wondering what his elder brother was thinking. His face had become – for a moment – frightening when Harry had been announced as the winner, but it had quickly been replaced with the image of a student happy for a fellow classmate. But Chris had caught the look, and knew that bad things were due to come his way as a result. He could only hope Wyatt would buy simply miscounting the stirs.

Wyatt walked through the school, Chris following, bypassing the Great Hall and leading them down a deserted corridor. He turned, and fixed Chris with a stony glare. "You did that on purpose didn't you?" he hissed, his voice filled with venom. Obviously, going more than an hour without having any underlings to torture was not good for Wyatt's temperament, being stuck in a school, having to follow rules, and pretend to be innocent and good just made it worse. "Made it so I wouldn't get my hands on the potion?"

"Why would I do a thing like that Wy -"

" _Don't lie to me!"_ Wyatt snapped, punching the wall beside Chris' head. "I'm not the simple mark you seem to think me Chris," Wyatt said. "I came to this school in good faith that you were under extreme stress, only to find that you were throwing nothing more than an immature temper tantrum because some teacher pressed the button on your mommy issues." Chris stared up at his older brother, not daring to speak out against what he was saying. "It is though you were deliberately trying to remove me from my position, something to which I do not take lightly," he said, raising his fist. Chris closed his eyes.

"Halliwells!" McGonagall's voice was sharp in the quiet of the corridor. "Why are you not in the Hall with the others?" she asked, looking at them over the top of her glasses with narrowed eyes. She took in the situation carefully, but made no noticeable expression as to whether she knew what was going on. "And Christopher," she said, Chris grimaced – she always used his full name when she wanted to seem more authoritative – "do remember that you have a detention tonight with Professor Turner. Immediately following dinner, in fact. And no, you may not accompany him, Wyatt Halliwell," she said, turning her gaze on Wyatt and cutting him off before he could ask the obvious question. "To dinner, both of you, immediately."

With that, Wyatt and Chris were hurried into the Great Hall. Chris didn't think he'd ever been so thankful for nosy teachers.

 **xXx**

"You know, somehow I just knew you'd show up Minnie," Chris said, on walking into his 'detention' and see McGonagall sitting behind the desk. Cole was standing over at his bookcase, idly flicking through an old looking tome. "And something also tells me that you popping up in that corridor early wasn't just a happy coincidence." Cole turned to looked at McGonagall, who didn't flicker. Chris sat down heavily in the chair that sat in front of the desk. "There's not a lot I can tell you, and even less that I'm willing to share, so why don't we just get this over and done with?"

"Who is he?" McGonagall said. Chris gave a scathing look. "Apart from your brother I mean. I know he's more than what he's letting on, so I would think it wise you share this information with us," she said, keeping her gaze level with Chris'. He had been right, you really couldn't get anything by her.

"That's one of those little things that I can't tell," Chris said. "Little bit of a magically inclined curse," he added, smirking over at her. "I try to tell you, and unpleasant things happen to me." McGonagall stared at him.

"Is that the truth?"

"Do you honestly think I'll tell you either way?" Chris countered. She continued to look at him, before sighing slightly, and looking away. Cole had come over in the meantime, and lifted Chris' chin, looking at the injuries on his face.

"So, he's hitting you now," Cole said slowly, keeping the anger out of his tone. Chris wrenched his face from Cole's grip, directing his gaze to the ground in the hopes that it would make Cole give up on getting an answer from him. Cole didn't try to get an answer from Chris again, he already knew Wyatt was the one who gave him the injuries; the simple fact was that no one else in the school would dare to even saying a wrong word to Chris, hitting him was something completely unheard of amongst the student body of Hogwarts.

"I highly expect that was what I stopped him from doing earlier today," McGonagall informed Cole, though still looking directly at Chris. "Would this be correct, Chris?" she asked, in a tone that showed she was determined to get some information out of the younger Halliwell on his elder brother, no matter how superficial said information may be. Chris still didn't answer though, largely out of plain stubbornness, though both she and Cole suspected that there was a large amount of family loyalty stopping him from talking as well.

"Are you going to tell us anything Chris?" Cole asked. There was still no answer. Cole pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Why was it that when it came to his brother, it was then and only then that they didn't have a single problem in getting Chris to be quiet for longer than five seconds, just as they wanted him to be talking. It was either irony, or proof that Chris really had inherited the stubbornness from all three Charmed Ones. He and McGonagall exchanged glances, wondering what they could do to try to get Chris to tell them anything relating to Wyatt.

"I'm going to bed," Chris said, breaking his silence. "Or to the dorm," he amended, realising it was early on in the evening. "No, I mean bed, I..." he sighed. "Just, I know you both want answers that I can't give you right now." He looked down at the ground, picking at the hem of his top. "It's just, if I told you everything right now, there'd be a lot of problems further on down the line, and I'm trying to stop that happening. Just... just let me do what I've got to do. For the Greater Good." His tone was so earnest that it would have been hard not to believe him. He stood, and quietly left the room.

"You believe him?" Cole said quietly, looking at the door. McGonagall allowed herself a wry grin.

"Not one single word," she said, "but I rather think that's the reaction he's expecting."

 **xXx**

Chris' sleep that night was seemingly fitful, with him constantly tossing and turning in his bed. Dog looked up at his master with concern, nudging at one of his hands with a cold, wet nose. Which was unusual for a hellhound to possess, but Dog was in the guise of a normal, everyday, household pet dog after all. He licked at the hand of his master, knowing that the bruises came from the hands of his master's brother, someone who Dog did not like in the slightest. He considered biting the other boy, but knew his master wouldn't like it. He sat at the side of the bed, watching as his master tossed and turned, wondering what trouble he was facing in his dreams.

" _You know, I thought you'd be taller_ ," the dark haired boy said to Chris, earning a glare in return. " _Oh, and we're a little bit rude, aren't we?_ " The boy laughed, seemingly delighted by this. " _And I kept telling him he was the bigger prat of us two. If he was aware of this, there'd be no living with him anymore._ " Chris frowned over at the youth, confused by him, not to mention what he was saying. The boy looked to be roughly the same age as him, perhaps a little older, with dark hair and bright blue eyes, which Chris would have sworn occasionally turned gold. His face held humour, with a gently mocking grin, which was spread wide in Chris' direction.

" _Who are you?_ " Chris asked, " _and why do I feel like I know you?_ " He blinked after asking this particular question, realising very quickly that he was dreaming. Except... at the same time he was well aware that he  _wasn't_  dreaming, that this conversation was really taking place.

" _You mean you haven't worked it out yet?_ " The boy sounded very amused by it all. " _I had hoped you'd know by now,_ " the boy seemed disappointed by this, and his smile fell slightly. " _Oh well. You can call me Emrys,_ " he said, his smile suddenly back, and brighter than it was before, if that were possible. Chris frowned, recognised the name, and trying to place it.

" _...You're Merlin_ ," he said, very slowly, just in case he was wrong. The boy, Merlin, brightened considerably.

" _I knew you'd work it out,_ " he said, sounding very pleased indeed." _I told Arthur you'd work it out faster than he thought you would. Stupid prat should have never have made that bet with me,_ " he added with a sly grin. Chris had to blink a few times. The Merlin of myth and legend was nothing like this boy sitting in front of him surely? He was pretty sure he was meant to be older, well, apart from those few versions he'd read that had placed Arthur and Merlin at roughly the same age. " _You'll find a lot like that_ ," Merlin said, with a knowing smile, " _you'll know soon enough which parts of which stories make up the entire truth_."

" _You spread the truth throughout all the legends?_ " Chris asked, impressed. That was the sort of thing he would do. A good way of creating stories for people to read, while at the same time making sure no one really knows what went on during that time, preventing any evil from recreating it fully. " _I'm impressed_."

" _I thought you might be_ ," Merlin grinned. " _I got the idea from you, after all._ " Chris frowned, and Merlin grimaced. " _Future sight,_ " he explained, " _it's creepy at times, but it's helpful. Though..._ " here he paused, eyeing Chris up and down somewhat critically, " _like I said, I thought you'd be taller. I also thought you'd be the elder of the two brothers, so that goes to show how reliable future sight is. Still, at least we're managing to talk before your 17_ _th_ _, it should help to make things a lot easier for you._ "

" _Merlin, why is my 17_ _th_ _important?_ " Chris asked, staring over at him with his confusion apparent. He considered it all, his mind rushing through what Merlin had said, and what he did already know. Which included who Wyatt was. " _Merlin, am ... am I you?"_ he asked, his tone devoid of emotions. Merlin looked at him with those bright blue eyes, as though trying to decide whether or not to tell him. He came to a decision.

" _Yes._ "

  



	11. Chapter 11

" _So... how can we be talking?_ " Chris asked, forcing himself to try to think on the logics of it all, instead of his first reaction; which happened to be outright rage. " _If I'm you or your reincarnation or whatever the hell it is I actually am._ " Unfortunately for Chris, the rage had a way of slipping through and making itself known. Merlin raised his eyebrows just slightly.  _"Don't give me that look,"_  Chris said quickly, recognising said look.  _"I perfected that look. It's a reasonable question, so I would quite like an answer, if that's not too much to expect."_

Merlin gave a soft laugh.  _"Okay, so it's reasonable._ " He paused, and leant back, leaning on some invisible wall with a casual air that Chris suspected no one except Merlin could ever posses.  _"It's not an exact reincarnation, you understand, not really. It's..."_  he paused, frowning slightly.  _"I can't actually think of the right word for it. Funny that. It's more like... partial sharing, if you like. You're the nearest there'll be to a reincarnation of me, until, well you know my stories,"_  he shrugged, showing that it really was the best way he could think of explaining it.  _"Like I said, it's not a perfect art. I did think you'd the older brother, it'd make things easier."_

" _Make what easier?"_  Chris asked, interested. Merlin gave a look; obviously he wasn't up for telling Chris everything this night.  _"Fine,"_  Chris sighed irritably,  _"another night, I get it."_

" _Don't make haste to find it all out Chris,"_  Merlin smiled widely,  _"sometimes the waiting is the most interesting part of it all."_ Chris glowered slightly.

" _Somehow, that doesn't make me feel all with the warm and fuzzies."_

 **xXx**

The week following the Potions lesson was a busy one, and Chris found himself grateful for his reputation of being brilliant without doing a single lick of the work set to them. He had began to dislike the Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons, however, as the constant expectation of non-verbal spells often lead to him being partnered with Wyatt, which in turn meant that he would come out of each lesson with a new injury. Chris was aware that he should have seen this coming. Without a constant supply of minions to torture, coupled with having to keep on the face of the good and innocent child people thought he was, Wyatt was growing more frustrated, and taking those frustrations out on the only person he could get away with doing so in the school.

That Saturday, however, was the Gryffindor Quidditch try-outs.

"What is Quidditch?" Wyatt asked the group, the night before at dinner. He received a lot of odd stares. "...What?" he asked.

"Quidditch is the sport of wizard kings," Chris commented dryly, getting a small giggle from Luna. She had been oddly quiet in Wyatt's company, occasionally blushing at the sight of him. It didn't improve Chris' moods, and he couldn't help but want to hit his brother, a lot. Why was it that he always got girls falling for him? It wasn't that Chris felt anything in that respect towards Luna, but it didn't mean he wanted her falling for his brother. She was his little sister, in his eyes at least.

"It's a sport alright," Nott said, "bloody, and brutal, and downright dangerous," he grinned widely. "Of course, that's what makes it so much fun." He paused, looking at the Gryffindors the group possessed. "Any of you lot actually trying out this year then?" he asked, curious. Chris gave a glare, well, his contempt for the sport was widely known.

"I always said I was going to try out after Fred and George left," Lu said honestly, before shrugging, "but, I guess I don't feel much like it anymore." Once again, Chris found himself annoyed with the Elders for what they had, in their wisdom, chosen to do. It was a confusing predicament to be in, someone who was created for no other reason to be his friend, going through grief that, rightly, shouldn't be bothering them at all as they didn't have the huge emotional tie they thought they did. Not to mention it gave him a headache trying to figure it all out. He tended not to think on it too much.

"Werewolves aren't allowed," Craig said with a small shrug, "doesn't really bother me, if I'm honest, I don't like flying all that much," he admitted. "Something about being up off the ground makes me feel sort of sick," he gave another shy grin. Chris fought back a laugh. Of course werewolves wouldn't be allowed, if they were their team would win all the time. "Might go along and watch the try outs though," Craig said after a moment or two. "It's a legitimate way of not doing homework."

"There's legitimate ways of not doing homework?" Chris questioned. "Huh, and here I was just not doing the damn thing. Clearly I need to be better informed," he put on a mock glare, "and for this I blame my minions. Bad Minions!" He held the mock glare for a while, before allowing a snort of laughter to the laughs already present. It was odd, only the year before he would have hated having people laugh along with him, and even though two of the people sitting there were created to be his friends, it was oddly ... nice. "I agree though, to Quidditch try outs we must go!"

"I think I'll try out," Wyatt mused. Chris nodded in agreement, turning back to his breakfast. After a minute or two, it appeared as though what Wyatt had said had actually made an impact.

"Wait, what?"

 **xXx**

It ended up just being Chris and Wyatt who went along to the Quidditch tryouts. Nott had no desire to be surrounded by the more annoying Gryffindors all afternoon, Luna had an essay she wanted to finished writing, and Luperca and Craig had something to do, Chris had stopped listening to the excuses by that point. By the looks of it, at least half of Gryffindor House had showed up to the try-outs, even though it was a drizzly day. Chris had to guess there was an appeal at having the once again popular in the news Harry Potter as the team captain. The groups hoping to try out seem to span the different year groups of the school. At one end of the pitch where a handful of first years, clutching on to their brooms for dear life, while the other end played host to seventh-years, who were playing the cool intimidation card to everyone else, but who nodded towards Wyatt, who they'd accepted as one of them. In the latter group was a large boy Chris remembered being included amongst the 'privileged few' on the train rain.

"Good luck, Wy," he muttered, moving over to the stands where Hermione was sitting, wisely wrapped up against the drizzle. "Hey, Beautiful," he said, sitting down beside her, "we in for wild time and fun rides today then?" he asked in a monotone. Then, genuinely curious, he gestured to the crowd. "There normally that big a turn out?"

"No, there's not," Hermione admitted, looking slightly concerned about it all. "Usually it's just a small handful. Only the most confident flyers tend to try out for the House team," she explained to Chris, who nodded. That made sense; Quidditch was a sport that required confidence on a broom after all. She looked over the crowd. "Your brother can fly?"

"I... don't know," Chris answered honestly, shrugging his shoulders. "He's pretty much been able to do whatever he puts his mind to when it comes to magic," he added. Hermione wisely chose to not question the slightly bitter tone to Chris' words. "I guess if he wants to fly, he can fly."

"That's rather interesting," Hermione said, "being able to just decide he can do aspects of magic that take others so long to learn," she clarified, leading Chris to roll his eyes. Like he wouldn't have worked it out anyway. "Is it part of his own abilities, do you know, or just some natural phenomena due to his being the Twice Blessed?" Chris started slightly, before relaxing. Hermione was a reader, of course she would know the term the magical community had given his brother. He could vaguely recall her using it before, but it still came as a shock to hear it after so long. Wyatt tended to avoid any of those names, not wanting the connection with the Elders to besmirch his work.

"A bit of both," he answered, leaning forward. Despite it, he couldn't help but be slightly interested in the academic side of the topic, rather like Hermione was. "I'd argue it was using some of the Laws of Natural Magic, along with maybe the theory Plausible Deniability, but that would completely wipe out the Natural Magic thing," he said. "Granted, it could just be him using a mix of his powers to get the desired effect, but Wy's always been a straightforward type of guy."

"Plausible Deniability?" Hermione question, leaning in eagerly. "You mean to say that since no one has simply told him he shouldn't be able to do these things without having studied and practised them, he just can?" She looked surprised, glancing over at Wyatt, before turning back to Chris. "If that were true, it could change the very essence of how we study magic," she cried excitedly. "Think of what your brother would be able to accomplish, what witch or wizard could accomplish if it were possible for other people to follow!"

"Yeah, I guess, but there's a lot of badness that comes with that, Beautiful," Chris said. "There's a reason people study and practise at magic. Just being able to do stuff because you decide you can doesn't mean you're going to use it in the right way, so the possibility that there could be generations of magic users just impulsively using magic is ... Wait, when did I turn into..." he trailed off, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. "It's just, impulsive magic can be ..."

"Dangerous," A deep voice finished. Chris and Hermione both jumped, and looked over, to see Wyatt standing over them amused. "I saw you two little lovebirds in a deep discussion and I had to come and investigate," he chuckled. Wyatt then turned a winning smile on Hermione. "My dear little brother is so anti-social at times. Seeing him talking is a rare treat." Chris scowled deeply, as Hermione looked warily between the two brothers. Chris seemed to be holding himself slightly stiffer in his brother's presence, or what that just her seeing tension when really there was none? "I'm on the team," Wyatt said, smirking as he sat down beside Chris. There was an obvious 'like I wouldn't' left hanging in the air.

"Whoop for you," Chris commented dryly. Wyatt always got what he wanted.

 **xXx**

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Cole asked, watching as Chris stuffed books from his shelves into a battered looking backpack. "It's playing it a little too close, don't you think? With him being here not to mention watching everything you do?" Chris continued to move around the office, grabbing bottles of vanquishing potion out of the top drawer of the filing cabinet. "Chris, are you even paying attention to me?" Cole sighed irritably, watching the young boy move around the room with a determined air.

"I am paying attention," Chris replied, inspected a dagger he had lifted from the weapons display on the wall. "I'm just putting you on mute for most of it," he explained with a smirk. Cole rolled his eyes, and moved to sit down behind his desk. "I've got duties with the Resistance tonight," Chris said, zipping up the bulging backpack carefully. He looked around the room, scanning carefully for anything that could be useful. "I can't keep putting them off; I'm on rocky enough ground as it is being his little brother." Cole noted a slight tone of scorn in Chris' words, and frowned.

"And this has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Leo's due in... oh," he paused, looking at his watch, "make that due soon?"

"No, it has everything to do with it," Chris replied, in as sarcastic a tone as any human being could manage. Of course, despite the sarcasm, it was entirely possible that Chris was being truthful about his reasoning for insisting that he go to the Resistance that night. He would do almost anything to avoid meeting with his father, after all. "Tell him to go get recycled, will you?" he added, in an off-hand manner. Cole blinked. As unusual a comment as it was, it was still pretty violent in terms of what Chris would usually give to his father. With one last look around the room, Chris orbed out, and Cole resisted the urge to slam his forehead off the desk.

It wasn't long until the door was opened, and Wyatt filled the doorway. "Really, Cole, an Ex-Source like yourself, reduced to playing dogsbody for a deluded old man," he gave a very cold laugh, the type that sent shivers up even the most hardened of demons' spines. "How very depressing. But, it's to be expected, you crossed my family after all." Wyatt added, conversationally, moving over to sit in one of the vacant seats in front of Cole's desk. "I take it that Chris has made his escape?"

"He decided to go and visit Victor's grave," Cole said, knowing that Chris would end up doing that before returning to Hogwarts. "Have you been?" he asked suddenly, looking at Wyatt curiously. There was no reply. The sigh didn't come, because Cole honestly expected avoidance from the boys by this point. They sat in silence for a few moments longer, before white lights filled the room. "You know, I'd appreciate it if you could find a way to make your orbing less blinding."

Leo ignored him. "Wyatt," he smiled warmly, moving over to his eldest son. "It's been too long."

"Hardly long enough," came Wyatt's decidedly cold reply. Leo recoiled as though his son had hit him, and Cole stared. "Have you spoken to my brother lately?" he asked. On Leo's slightly embarrassed look, Wyatt rolled his eyes. "Stupid question to ask wasn't it. You always did hate him." Cole decided at that moment that it was in his best interests to remain quiet, and not because Wyatt was motioning for him to do so.

"Wyatt it isn't as easy as you're making it out to be," Leo insisted. "You know your brother. He's completely..."

"Completely sick of you?" Wyatt cut in. "Well, that makes two of us." Leo looked heartbroken, and Wyatt rolled his eyes. "Really, Leo, do you think I'd stand idly by and bask in your praise while you shunned and hated Chris?" he said, sounding bored. "Mother never hated him, and yet you never seemed to get pass that, did you?"

"Wait, what do you mean?" Cole asked, eyes narrowing slightly. "Why would Piper hate Chris?" He looked at Wyatt, frowning slightly. Well, Leo was obviously not going to give him anything concrete to go on, so he might as well ask the one whose morality was slightly greyer than Chris'.

"It's none of your business!" Leo snapped, glaring at the ex-demon. Wyatt laughed.

"Oh, I think he does," he smirked. "You see, Cole, Leo has never gotten over the fact that there were ... complications to Chris' birth," there was a long pause as Wyatt allowed this to sink in. Casually, he continued. "Now, not that Chris is aware of this, but our Mother almost died as a result of these complications. Leo has never gotten over that." There was a silence.

"How did you find out?" Leo asked.

"Aunt Phoebe never was the best at keeping secrets related to me and Chris," Wyatt replied. "I wanted to know why it was that you couldn't look him in the eye, let alone pretended he didn't even exist." There was a long, long pause, as Leo spluttered, lost for words. Eventually he found his voice again, and with it came a glare directed at his eldest.

"You have no right to lecture me!" He snapped, finger pointing at the boy, who raised an eyebrow, seemingly amused by his father's anger. "You are my son! Not to mention my charge," he added, in a tone that suggested he had some sort of control over Wyatt, clearly forgetting whose son he was. Cole blinked at what Leo said. Going by what he said, it meant that Wyatt still have a whitelighter. Wyatt, the one who openly committed acts that the Elders had a lot of problems, and Chris ... surely that meant that Chris had one as well?

"Who's Chris' whitelighter?" Cole asked, in a very casual tone. Wyatt blinked, turning to look at his father expectantly. Leo, still glaring at Wyatt, didn't turn to face Cole. His reply came through gritted teeth, as though it was information that he really didn't want them to know about, let alone be the one to tell them it.

"Chris doesn't have a whitelighter." There was another flurry of white lights after Leo spoke. Frowning slightly, he turned, only to get punched.

"Like hell he doesn't," Victor Bennett glared at his son-in-law.


	12. Chapter 12

  


At the sight of his grandfather, Wyatt's leader resolve momentarily dropped. "Grandpa?" he said, not really sure if he should believe what he was seeing in front of him. Victor turned to his eldest grandson, and smiled, and Wyatt couldn't help but smile back. "Grandpa, you became a whitelighter? I can't believe tha..." he paused, and looked around. Leo and Cole were both staring at him with odd looks on their faces. Of course, they had never seen Wyatt with his grandfather. Both he and Chris had become close to the man following their mother's death, when he took them in. As irritating as he had found working around his rules at the time, Wyatt had to admit he enjoyed the novelty of pretending to be nothing more than an average sixteen year old while living at his grandfather's. Still, it would not do for Leo and Cole to think he was still that naive boy. He adopted a more sober look. "I see they've conned you into joining their ranks," he remarked, leaning back in his chair with an air of boredom. "Did they convince you I could be saved?"

 

"Don't talk to me like that," Victor said sternly. "And no, contrary to what you might believe Wyatt, I was not conned into joining." Victor assured him. "I offered." Cole gave a small start at this revelation, looking up at Victor as though the man were someone entirely new to him. Of course, with that particular statement, Cole could be easily forgiven for his surprise: none of the Halliwells had ever expressed an interest in bowing to the Elder's rule. It was important to note here, however, that Leo only married into the family; he was a Wyatt, not a Halliwell.

"Victor, you're not supposed to be here," Leo chose that moment to cut in. "You know what the Elders have ruled concerning Chris, you're putting yourself in danger of being recycled," he warned. Cole shot a look over to Leo. Could the man really be so stupid as to threaten his father-in-law in that way? Victor apparently was having similar thoughts, as the look on his face would have been enough to vanquish even the strongest of demons on its own.

"So, I'm supposed to let one of my grandsons self destruct?" Victor snapped. "That isn't happening Leo, and I'll tell that to whoever I have to." Victor's tone was so very determined, and Wyatt couldn't help but crack a smile at it. Out of all the 'adults' he knew, Grandpa was the only one he would trust, because Grandpa quite frankly was the only one who didn't try to go for anything other than the direct approach. "If you're not giving up on Wyatt..."

"Why would he have to? I'm not evil Grandpa," Wyatt said, sounding bored and mused at the same time. It was a talent he had perfected while enduring Riddle's many, many rants. "I don't buy into that anymore. There's only power." Cole rolled his eyes. "Chris realises that too," he added, in a conversational tone, though while shooting covert glances at Cole, wanting to judge his reaction. Cole, to his credit, didn't react directly to the comment, but rather gave off a sense of being weary with everything that Wyatt was saying.

"Okay, so, before I find myself attempting to throttle your grandson, lovely to see you by the way Victor, I find myself acting as a teacher and pointing out the power level in this room is going to get unbearable when the headmaster shows up," he said, looking at the three. It was a fair point, even if only he would really be able to comprehend it. Whitelighters never could sense power levels the way demons could. Wyatt was the first to stand, giving a sarcastic bow to his father.

"Excuse me, I'm just going to retire to my quarters," he sniped, "Cole, when my brother returns from wherever it is he actually is, do tell him that the constant pain in his side sends his regards." At this, he shot Leo a poisonous look. "Whether or not he actually does is irrelevant." Leo opened his mouth to say something, but Wyatt held up a hand, silencing the man. "I really don't want to hear it," he informed him. He nodded at Victor, and left the room. Victor turned to Leo.

"So you've got both your sons hating you," he said casually, "any ideas how you're going to make it up to Chris?" Leo glared, and orbed out, having no desire to be lectured at by his father in law. Victor sighed, and sat down heavy in Wyatt's vacated seat. "Are we sure that's the same Leo who married Piper?" he asked Cole, who gave a small shrug of his shoulders. It was a question that Cole had asked himself many times before, and still had yet to come up with a proper answer to. "How is Chris, anyway?" Victor's voice sounded hopeful; he wanted good news.

"A brat," Cole answered, cracking a small smile. "No, he's... he represses a lot," he said, moving over to a bookcase. "He's developed, well, I'd call it a hero complex except he couldn't give a damn what happens to the majority of other people." Victor gave a small laugh, though it sounded forced. He gestured for Cole to continue explaining; he had been out of Chris' life for far too long. "It's just, Victor, Chris..."

"Has a death wish, I know," Victor finished the sentence Cole seemed reluctant to voice. "But he won't let himself act on it till he's finished whatever it is he's put his mind to." There was a silence between the two men. "So, how are we going to stop him thinking like this?" Cole smiled just slightly; you could count on Victor to be proactive when it came to his family. At least, you could when he got the chance to – Cole deeply admired Penny Halliwell, but he would have been among the first to admit the woman was scarily overbearing.

"At the moment? You're going to have to go back," Cole said. "He can't see you here Victor, you know that." Victor glared for a moment, but nodded his agreement. "From then on, well, we'll work that out when we get to it, won't we?"

 **xXx**

Chris had come to a conclusion: Wyatt was mad. Not for the 'there is only power' speech that he often came out with, but for actively running a legion of evil with the majority of members being older than him. His own experiences at it had proven it to be nowhere near as simple as Wyatt made it seem. Granted, Chris was aware that it was probably only easier for Wyatt since he had the power to back up the threats he used to keep people scared of him. Fear seemed to work well if you wanted people to obey your every word.

Well, unless there were people who hated the idea of being forced to do something, and hated being scared. This is where the Resistance came in to play, really.

Chris had managed to gather a good number of magical families; the Marks, the Jenkins sisters, even some of the Saberhagens and the Hallows showed up, and those families were supposedly mortal enemies. Well, depends on how you looked at the term 'mortal', especially if those rumours of an extending potion circulating amongst the Saberhagen family were true. They sat around a battered wooden table, each attempting to talk above the other person, resulting only in a loud mess that had Chris laying his head against the table and groaning. "I had hoped that when I invited you all here, you'd act your fuckin' ages, and not like the idiots I go to school with," he muttered lightly. Of course, his words went unheard, or at least, that was what he assumed. Sitting nearest ot him was Mr. Hallow. From a long line of witches, he was the first boy born to the Hallow line in ... well; actually it was the same amount of time as the Halliwell family. Mr. Hallow wasn't a particularly skilled wizard; however he was pushing forward a new mix of magic and technology that was looking to be very promising.

"And why should I listen to a foul mouthed boy who is no older than my eldest daughter?" He asked. It was, in fairness, a reasonable question. Chris glared up at him. "Stop that," Mr. Hallow commanded. Chris didn't. Mr Hallow returned the glare, causing the woman sitting next to him – his wife – to sigh loudly.

"Perhaps because he is of the Warren line?" she suggested in a bored tone of voice. "And quite frankly, while we all boast long and extensive magical histories, none of them quite compare to the good his line radiates," there was a pause, as she gave a pointed look over at the Saberhagen party. "Though some of us have never been good to begin with." There was a snarl from the Saberhagen present, Chris didn't know his name but really, the guy was sitting decked out in the most threatening outfit he could have probably come up with. Talk about colour coordinating to people's beliefs.

"Seriously! Aren't you lot meant to be the mature, wise magic users?" Chris found himself asking, glaring out at the lot of them with a strange sense of defeat. "I gave you the information, you all know what's at stake here," he looked to the table, "I'm not asking you to follow me blindly, hell, I'll welcome someone telling me to stop being an ass, but I need you to at least trust me in what I'm trying to do." His words fell on deaf ears. The families couldn't stop arguing amongst themselves, demanding that they be made leader of this 'little Resistance.'

Chris was fighting the urge to throw something very heavy at them. It was a surprisingly hard urge to resist.

He stood eventually, and departed from the table, going to stand outside the small building, letting the cold air calm him. This was the fifth meeting they had attempted to have, and they all ended the same way: with the rest of the families arguing and Chris wanting to throw a volley of fireballs at them just to get them to shut the hell up. Needless to say, if anything these meetings were proof that Chris had more self control that he generally let on to the public. He stepped outside the run down building they were using as a meeting place, and sat down heavily on the front step, bringing his knees up to his chest, and burying his head in his arms.

He wasn't sure how long he had sat out there when he heard the voice. "Hey, are you okay?" He looked up, and blinked, before jumping up and stepping back as though ready to attack. The owner of the voice, a rather pretty girl who had to be at least 3 years older than Chris with long brown hair, held up her hands in protest. "No, wait, hey, I come in peace," she got out, stepping back herself. "I just ... there was a rumour going round that," she paused, looking at the building, then at Chris, before giving a very strained and tired looking smile. "Never mind, it doesn't matter."

"What's the rumour?" Chris said, keeping a wary eye on the girl. "Are pigs flying over the rainbow?" he sneered. The girl froze, before giving a more relaxed smile.

"I heard it was a dog and a cat eloping," she replied. Chris stared at her for few more moments before relaxing, and giving a nod of greeting.

"Welcome to the Resistance," he said, holding out his hand. "I'm Chris, you?" The girl took the hand, and shook it.

"Bianca. Bianca Perry."

 **xXx**

There were three more meetings of the Resistance before the first Hogsmeade trip of the term. Though they were each as disastrous as the last, they had managed to make some progress, with the families actually agreeing that – for now – they would listen to Chris' judgement. It helped that he was the only one who really knew what was going on anyway. Bianca Perry, Chris had discovered, was a rare find. A Phoenix witch, she was disillusioned with the life the rest of her family lead, and had no desire to follow the Source's rule if he did finally manage to take full power. She was also a fan of spicy food, her favourite colour was red, she was a huge fan of Bon Jovi, and when she smiled, Chris couldn't help but smile along with her.

He was disturbed to find that he might actually have a crush on someone and resolved to just have more cold showers. Especially since it was someone he could actually consider an actual friend that hadn't been created by the Elders – he had made sure to check on that.

The morning of the Hogsmeade trip, Chris awoke due to a flash of light, and Ron Weasley letting out a large yell. Looking over, he saw Ron dangling upside-down in midair, as though something were holding him up by the ankle. The other boys of the dorm were in a commotion over it, and even Wyatt looked vaguely interested. Chris, however, had no such interest, and debated pulling the cover back over his head and going to sleep again. Of course, that wouldn't have worked; the noise was too much to try to block out, and he had been experiencing some interesting dreams lately – mostly in relation to Bianca - so he instead got up, and dressed, going down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

He never got there.

Halfway down, he found his path blocked once more, and he frowned, wondering what the hell was causing this to happen. It wasn't as though he was planning anything nefarious; he just wanted some breakfast before going into the village with the group. He turned around, looking for a source. "There is something happening today, little brother," Wyatt said, coming up behind Chris, wearing a large smirk on his face. "It will be most interesting to see. And so good of you to wait on me," he added, clicking his fingers. Chris – who had been leaning against the block at this point, stumbled forwards, only just managing to stop himself from colliding face first with the ground.

"Asshole," he muttered, pulling at his top to make it seem like the stumble was semi intentional. Wyatt smirked once more, leaning over Chris with a menacing air.

"What was that, Chris?" he asked, his voice a low hiss, and his hand raised just slightly, fingers poised in a familiar manner. Chris began to feel a grip around his neck, a phantom hand choking him, and his own hands went up, trying to pull this invisible appendage away, trying to get some air into his throat. He slipped to the ground again, his knees slamming heavily against the floor, as the grip finally let go, and his hands dropped to the ground as he coughed.

Wyatt's smirk grew, and he wandered quietly into the Great Hall, seating himself at the Gryffindor table amongst some of his fans. Chris glared, dusting himself off before turning away from the Hall. For once, breakfast didn't seem so appealing.

 **xXx**

Down in Hogsmede, Chris found himself staying away from his usual group, who were showing Wyatt the delights the village had to offer. He couldn't explain what it was, but today just didn't seem right. Well, actually he could explain what it was. It was all too clear what the issue at hand was, it was just that Chris didn't want to have to admit to it, as that would be admitting he cared a little too much about the school, and the annoying people in his years, not to mention his idiotic House. Instead, Chris ended up sitting in a back booth at the Hogs Head – he avoided the Three Broomsticks when he saw Wyatt being dragged in there – with a fire whiskey in front of him. Which was rapidly removed by Cole

"I don't care what the wizarding world laws are, you're not drinking in a bar till you're 21," he explained, putting a Butterbeer down on the table in front of Chris, and sitting himself in the seat opposite. "So, Wyatt's getting popular." Chris snorted loudly.

"Course he would, he's the freakin' Twice Blessed, all round golden guy," he poked angrily at the bottle of Butterbeer. "Who cares if he's mentally unstable and..." he trailed off, looking down at the table. Cole stared at the boy, wondering if it would do any good for him to address the subject himself. He coughed, turning to look out the window.

"Minerva is worried," he said. "She's gotten it into her head that, and I don't know why she's thinking this, that Wyatt's been hitting you." Chris didn't reply. "Which is ridiculous, isn't it? Because he wouldn't do that. I mean, he might be morally dubious, but he wouldn't attack his own brother." Chris still didn't answer. Cole shook his head. "How long Chris?"

"It's not what you're thinking, Cole," Chris said. "It's never happened before, it's like..."

"He's used to torturing his minions, but the problem is there are no minions at Hogwarts for him to torture. Apart from you."

"... Okay, so yeah, it is what you're thinking," Chris sighed, looking up and finally taking a drink from the bottle in front of him. His nose wrinkled at the taste – it was a little too sweet for him. "He's not evil, Cole, and I know that it seems really fuckin' ironic for me to say that considering he's treating me like a personal punching bag, but ... I just can't believe that he's evil." He sank down in his chair, looking incredibly tired. "It just makes it harder, that's all. He's in deeper than I realised, so it'll take more, but I can still do it."

Cole, to his credit, looked doubtful. Chris ignored this.

"I gotta be able to do it, I'm all he's got."

  



	13. Chapter 13

  


The blood-curdling scream Chris heard on the way back up to the castle was only the start of the problems. He was returning on his own; Wyatt being accompanied by a group of admirers who hung on his every word. Seriously, if this kept up, Chris would find his fan club lacking rapidly, and he didn't much like that prospect. Still, the scream broke him out of his dour thoughts, and started him running, spells and the like rushing through his mind, trying to prepare himself for any possible outcome.

"Someone's been cursed!" Harry's bellow broke the air, and Chris skidded to a stop. Cursed... in Hogsmede? Was that even possible? For all extents and purposes this was an idyllic village, a place where magic users and magical creatures could be in safety. For someone to be cursed here, and not just anyone someone but a Hogwarts student... Chris' hand curled into a fist, even if the more cycnical voice in his head was pointing out that he shouldn't give a damn, that really this wasn't his problem, that he never really cared about the school in the first place. It was all true, of course, but it was  _his_  school to not give a damn about, there was no way he was letting anyone take that from him.

Which, predictably, was when the demons attacked and a metaphorical hell broke loose.

It was only a small pack – 5 or 6 at the most- but the screams of the students rose high. He couldn't blame them, they did go straight for the attack, after all. Chris gritted his teeth, rushing the demon nearest him and knocking him straight to the ground, drawing the pack's attention. "Seriously guys," he panted, moving back quickly, standing in a defensiive position, all the while making sure he was between the majority of the demons and the students. "Attacking school kids? I know Source Boy had low standards, but I didn't think he was pathetic." A fireball aimed at his head was came quickly, and Chris orbed just in time, patting quickly at his hair to stop the smell of the few signed ones.

"Thisss isss not your battle, Halliwell," the lead demon – tall and broad, green scales and what Chris suspected was a serious case of jaundice – snarled at him. "We do not fight for the Sssource," there was mockery in his tone. "He isss ssslow minded, narrow, and hatesss my people. We fight for ourssselvesss. For thossse who ssspeak the language of the sssnake"

"You know, that elongated 's' thing got real old, real fast," Chris said lightly, though he was panic. This was a pack of Snake Demons; not the most creative name in the world but it worked for their purpose. Their leader had pledged allegiance to Wyatt during the summer. Why would they be against him now? What the hell was Tommy doing in their absence? "Anyway, I'd love to say and chat, but you know how it is..." he trailed off, and whipped his arm out quickly in a huge sweeping gesture, knocking them back. "And now is when you run," he said to the nearest student.

He had to give it to Hogwarts students – they knew when to run.

"You will pay for thisss," the lead demon hissed. "We will make you ssscream, and beg for your end." Chris rolled his eyes flinging his arm out again, knocking them off their feet once more, and orbing behind the pack. Wyatt wouldn't approve of this. Chris couldn't really care what Wyatt would approve of. He stood in, what was in his mind, a classic hero pose. A smirk graced his face, and he tilted his head, eyes filled with amusement.

"I hear that a lot. Hasn't happened yet."

As if the comment had flipped some sort of switch, the demons all rushed him. Chris forced both arms out wide, knocking them all back, running in the opposite direction to the school and town – towards the forest. He had to keep them away from people; thy couldn't be allowed to harm any innocents. Of course, they followed. How could they not? A Halliwell attacking them in the open? Even if the original Charmed Ones were dead, no demons would ignore the chance to completely wipe the family lines off the Earth. At least, not the one who weren't under Wyatt's control. They reasoned it by saying that they knew what good magic was like; if even just  _one_  Halliwell survived, there would be a new set of Charmed Ones eventually. A new Power of Three to plague them. Best to end the entire line when they had the chance.

Chris ran, jumping over roots and stones, doing his best to make sure they were still following. Of course they were, he could hear the hissing breaths, but there was still a panic there. For a moment, there was nothing, and in the panic that occurred – what if they were headed to the school, to the village? That would be more blood on his hands, he couldn't have more blood on his hands, he could barely see them as it was – he tripped, and went sprawling on the ground.

Then he screamed.

One of the demons, the tallest, jumped on top of him, their fangs piercing into his shoulders and biting down. Chris screamed in pain, and threw himself over, managing to toss the demon off him as he did so. Quickly, he got to his feet, and swayed violent, a hand going up to press at the bleeding – oozing, actually by the feel of it – wound, the hand on the now weakened arm wrapping around that forearm. He swallowed dryly, all the moisture had gone from his mouth, and he had to squint slightly to see what was happening. He swayed, but stood his ground. "That … all you got?" he breathed heavily, coughing as he let out a laugh. "Pathetic."

The lead demon sneered back. "You will be dead within the night, Halliwell," he informed Chris. "Thisss will be a mercy kill." He stepped forward, clawed hand raised to strike. Chris' breathing was heavy, and his eyes snapped shut, as he hissed in pain. With what seemed like great effort, his free hand flicked, just a little, and the demon screamed, bursting into a million little bits. An instant vanquish. The second in command of the pack stepped forward.

"You do not have that power!" she – because this one was a she – insisted. "Thisss isss known!" Chris' eyes opened slowly, and he swayed violently yet again. A small smirk appeared on his face.

"Guess you need to update your information," he said hoarsely. "I got Mom's powers when she died. They've progressed too, I mean, I can do this -" at that he flicked again, setting two of the demons aflame with a fireball. "Mom couldn't." He ended the statement with a weak laugh; any colour rapidly fading from his face. "So, what is it? 3 against 1? Easy." Chris moved to flick his hand again, only to have it caught in a crushing grip, and pulled out of its lazy hook. Chris grunted with the pain, looking up.

"It isss me againssst you, Halliwell." she hissed. "The female of our kind isss ssso much ssstronger than the male, didn't you know?" There was a look on her face that Chris would have sworn was an evil grin, but Snake Demons couldn't exactly grin. She twisted the arm again, kicking Chris' legs to force him on to his knees. He looked up, breathing heavily, and his vision swimming. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and he felt like he was going to throw up. Whatever that bite did to him, it worked fast. "I sssupossse I ssshould asssk; do you have any lassst requessstsss, you pathetic little witchling?" Chris coughed, and pretended to give it some thought

"...I suppose asking that it be to grow old and die in bed surrounded by fat grandchildren is out of the question?"

"You are a fool." The she-demon said. Chris nodded weakly.

"I get that a lot."

"There isss no reassson for you to live," the she-demon hissed at him, grabbing him hair, and dragging his head back. He grunted in the pain, eyes snapping shut yet again, but he made himself open them again. He wouldn't let this get to them. Who cares if his vision was severely impaired and he couldn't see anything for the water in his eyes. He was a Halliwell; he had to at least put on a show. "Goodbye, little Halliwell. A pity you were not better prey." Her clawed hand moved towards his throat.

Chris could vaguely hear a yell, as his vision was completely lost, his eyes closing, and his body falling forward on to the ground with a heavy thump.

 **xXx**

" _...can't stop the bleeding. Oh god, there's so much blood ..."  
" … don't let him! He's the only one I've got left!..."_

" …  _need to leave … just worrying here ..."  
_ " …  _I CAN'T LEAVE HIM! ..."_

" _... Shouldn't have been allowed out in the first place ..."  
" … Had a permission form..."  
"... family is dead … signed it?..."_

" _... Everyone knows … curse of the family ..."  
" … terrible thing to happen … wish it on anyone ..."  
" … Death follows them … terrible, terrible thing ..."_

" _... Waiting game …"  
" … When?..."  
" … Not sure if he'll wake up ..."_

" _... Come on slugger, this is nothing … We'll go to a Cubs game … Shouldn't be in this damned school … Should be allowed to do my job …"_

" …  _Always said that you shouldn't … doesn't mean I want to see you here … Well, get up, don't let a little thing like this count you out …"_

"  _... WHY THE HELL DIDN'T YOU SHOW UP? HE NEEDED YOU AND YOU WERE NOWHERE ..."  
" … I had my dut..."  
" … DAMN YOUR DUTIES! YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE SOMETHING! ..."_

" …  _I can't do this. I promised her I wouldn't let this happen and I … I just can't … You_ _ **need**_ _to wake up … Can't break my promise, not again ..."_

" _... Come on, Peanut, it's time to wake up."_

_  
_

  


  



	14. Chapter 14

  


A sound rustling sound reached Chris' ears, and he was aware of the heavy weight of one of his arms resting across his stomach. He groaned lightly, the bright lights breaking through his eyelids, and his eyes slowly opened. "Chris?" That voice... it was familiar, but he couldn't place it at the moment. Everything was foggy. "Chris! Chris, you're awake! Cole, Cole he's awake! Chris, come on, speak to me!" The voice was panicked, and Chris turned to face him. His throat was dry, and he coughed twice his tongue darting out to try to moisten his chapped lips.

"...Wyatt?" His voice sounded odd, like he hadn't used it in a while, and he pushed, trying to sit up properly. Doing so gave him a sharp pain in his arm, and he looked down to find a vial inserted in the outstretched forearm, leading to a bag of some fluid. "Where am I? What... what happened?" he asked, looking at his brother for an answer. Wyatt looked exhausted, like he'd slept in the same clothes for a few nights. He hadn't shaved, and his hair was a mess. A far cry from the clean and collected Leader of Evil Chris was used to seeing.

"You're in the Hospital Wing," Cole said. His voice came from a spot over by the wall, that Chris could just about see if he lifted his head. Of course, doing so made his vision swim again, so he wasn't in the mood for doing it more than once. "You were brought here after..."

"You were attacked, by Snake Demons," Wyatt cut in, throwing a look at Cole that clearly stated where he could go. "One of them bit you, infected you with venom. You..." he paused, looking down to the white sheets of the bed. "You  _died_  Chris. For a few minutes, you were considered legally dead." Wyatt tried to keep his tone light, but just for a second his voice wavered. Chris looked around, feeling as though all the air had been removed from the immediate vicinity.

"I... I died?" His voice wasn't any louder than a whisper, and it sounded to his ears like he was about to burst into tears. That was so very  _not_ on the list of things he wanted to do around Wyatt or Cole, so he sniffed loudly, giving a weak smirk. "Well, I'm a proper Halliwell now. A death to my name. The sisters must be so proud." Wyatt and Cole both gave very weak laughs, obviously trying to buy into the light-hearted feeling Chris wanted them to have. "So, how long have I been out?" The more he spoke, the stronger his voice sounded.

"About two weeks," Cole replied. He hadn't moved from his spot, but it was becoming an oddly reassuring presence. "The venom really did a number on you, you shouldn't have used your powers after you were bitten. It increased the potency," there was a mildly berating tone in the voice, something that made Chris smile. Nice to see that nothing would stop Cole seeing him as a child needing kept in line. Like his staying in the one spot, it was reassuring. A solid presence. "Wyatt basically moved in, he refuses to return to the dorm until you woke up."

Wyatt's scowl was clear, and there was an odd flicker crossing over his face. "Well, I could hardly be said to have stood idly by while my second in command died because of some … misinformed demons now, could I, Cole?" Ah, and there was that mask again. Wyatt the brother was hidden behind Wyatt the Source. But... Wyatt the Brother was still there, Chris could see it. A warm light in Wyatt's eyes.

He wasn't all bad, it had to be that he wasn't all bad.

"Well, he's awake now," Cole said lightly, "so at the very least go and get a wash. You stink." There was a brief moment of glaring between the two, and Chris could see his brother's hand curling into a fist, ready to launch a powerful ball of energy that would surely send Cole back to the wastes of the Underworld; or worse. "That's an order, Halliwell, from a teacher," Cole added, rather stupidly in Chris' opinion, but then he didn't know what he'd missed. Clearly a lot, as Wyatt uncurled the fist, though the general vibe of anger didn't fade.

"Yes, sir," he muttered viciously, before turning back to Chris, the mask slipping for just a second. "I'll be back soon, brother. Try to rest." He left the Hospital Wing, and his seat at Chris' side was filled a moment after by Cole.

"...Since when does Wyatt call you sir?" was the first thing out of Chris' mouth, eyebrows raised in surprise. Cole laughed a humourless laugh, and Chris frowned. Well, he thought he frowned, everything felt rather heavy and he wasn't entirely sure what type of facial expressions he was making. He was making it known that it was meant to be a frown, though. Just for the record.

"Oh, since I had to pull him off Leo," Cole told him, leaning back causally in the plastic chair, then deciding against it on hearing the squeak the plastic made.

"...What?"

Cole sighed, standing up and picking a card off of the reasonably sized cabinet beside the bed. Chris looked up, and was surprised to see the top of it covered in cards. "You've been getting a lot of visitors, Chris. It's all round the school that you were willing to sacrifice yourself to save a group of students that you didn't even know." Chris said nothing, but inside he was kicking himself. Why the hell did he even bother? Look where he ended up! "I'm not saying it wasn't a clever move, the Order have decided that whatever your methods, you're the truest amongst them, dedicated to protecting innocents."

"They're easily led," Chris said dryly. "I just... I don't even know what I was doing. I saw the demons, I reacted." If he could, Chris would have shrugged. "When can I get out of here?" Cole looked down, and a small smile was on his face.

"You really are your mother's son," he told Chris. "I don't know yet., Madame Pomfrey will want to keep you a few days more to make sure the venom is out of your system – you gave her quite a shock. She'd never dealt with demon wounds before." He placed the card back down on top of the cabinet – which seemed to be more cards than cabinet from what Chris could see. "Leo showed up, while you were … well, asleep, and Wyatt obviously wasn't happy." Cole picked up another card – this one with a hand drawn Gryffindor lion on it, clearly the work of Dean Thomas – and smiled at whatever was written inside. "Wyatt had called on him when they first brought you here, and he wouldn't show up."

The implication of this sunk in. "... He let me die?" There was a prickling feeling at Chris' eyes, as a sudden flood of tears came to them. He turned away from Cole, forcing them back.

"That's what Wyatt thought," was Cole's reply. He noticed Chris' turning away, and acted like he hadn't seen anything. "Me, well I have my doubts." He'd seen Leo's face after all. The man was devastated, and only just holding it together. When Wyatt was screaming at him, Cole noticed what Wyatt couldn't. He replaced the hand-made card, and picked up another; this one plain white. "He left you this," he told Chris, holding the card out to him.

Chris didn't take it. "Why would you have your doubts? We know Leo hates me." There was a clear tone of hurt in his voice, so Cole didn't prod any further. "Still haven't explained why with the 'sir', though."

"Oh, that would be because he finally got it into his head that here he isn't in charge," Cole explained. "Leo showing up put him in a foul mood, and he was a problem student, to put it lightly. I stepped in and made sure he didn't get his cover blown, and kicked out. Which was far from what he wanted, especially with you being here." Cole gave Chris a nod, the younger Halliwell just rolling his eyes in response. Good to see some things never changed. "I gave the usual type of excuse, he was blinded with grief, memories of the sisters, that sort of thing. They seemed willing to trust my word, but it's my word that can have him out faster than he can blink."

Chris took this in, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. He felt tired, oddly enough, and his hand rose slightly to rub at his eyes. Well, that had been the plan, but the arm and shoulder ached when he tried to lift them, so he let it be. "I want to get out of here," he said, looking at the wall directly opposite his bed. "Where's Dog?" he asked, not unreasonably. Dog usually slept on the bottom of Chris' bed, and he was realising how odd it felt without the comfortable weight of him holding down the sheets.

"Madame Pomfrey thought a hellhound was not hygienic," Cole answered simply. Chris scowled slightly, but any comment he could have made was stopped by the huge yawn that came when he opened his mouth. Cole laughed softly. "You've just woken up, and now you're tired again? You're getting lazy, Chris."

"Shut up Demon Man," Chris muttered sleepily. There was a soft creaking, as the door opened, and Chris found him bed invaded by the heavy figure that was Dog, who was insistently trying to give his Master a rather sandpaper-y hellhound kiss. Chris laughed, managing to push him back. "Hey boy, you miss me?" he grinned, scratching behind the ear. He looked up, seeing Wyatt holding the door open. He looked like he was trying to hold back rather a lot of laughter.

"He's been sitting outside this door since you were brought in," Wyatt told Chris. "He pushed past me to get in. I think he realised you were finally awake," he said. There was a pause, as Wyatt looked behind him. "Oh, and your minions want to see you." He stepped out of the way, and Luna flew into in the room, latching on to Chris quickly in a tight hug.

"Chris! I was so worried!"

… Okay, so maybe having some people to care about at this damn school wasn't an entirely bad thing

 **xXx**

Madame Pomfrey insisted on keeping Chris in the Hospital Wing for at least another week, much to his displeasure. Some of the teachers came in, attempting to catch him up on the work he'd missed – Slughorn found himself being flung from the room when he tried, however. Chris was glad to find he could use his powers to the same extent as he could before; even if his shoulder did still give a painful twinge every so often if he over extended himself. Still, it was better than to being able to access his powers at all, which was a fear that momentarily crossed his mind. If the teachers weren't in giving Chris catch-up work, then he was receiving many visitors – Cole hadn't been kidding when he said the news had spread around the school. People he didn't even know were visiting him. Some giggling girls, some solemn faced people who were amongst the group of students he'd effectively saved.

Being a hero was... well, it was relatively easy, Chris didn't know what Wonder Boy Potter complained about.

Speaking of the Wonder Boy, he came to visit once. On his own, disturbingly late at night when Madame Pomfrey had left the ward. "You know, if you're planning to have your naughty way with me, I gotta tell you Potter, you're not my type," Chris commented, having been poked sharply in his side by Harry to wake him up. He frowned, looking up at the – unfortunately – fellow Gryffindor. "What the hell are you up to anyway?" he asked, pushing himself into a sitting position. He'd be glad when he could get out of the Hospital Wing and back into the dorm – and yes, he was surprised at that particular thought _ever_  appearing in his mind. This school really was infecting him.

"On the train, on the way here," Harry started looking around. He stood at the foot of the bed, and his hand was gripping tightly on his wand. He looked pale, and worried. "After you left Slughorn's compartment, I went into one of the Slytherin ones … I think Malfoy's up to something, and I wanted proof." He gabbled, trying to reason out his actions as he spoke. Chris frowned, giving a look which could be best summed up as:  _'...and?'_ Harry swallowed nervously, his grip on the wand growing tighter, his knuckles turning white. "Malfoy was talking about you... they all were. They … they called you Lord Christopher, the right hand of the Source of All Evil." Chris was silent. "But that's not true, is it Chris? You … you wouldn't sign up with the Source, right?"

Chris still didn't answer. Harry stepped back slightly. "They said you command  _Voldemort_ , that you're just here to get people to follow you, that..." Harry seemed to loose his voice. There was a moment where he simply stood, looking at the silent figure of Chris in the bed, battling with whatever emotions and thoughts were going though his mind at that time. He raised his wand, pointing it at Chris. "I'm meant to stop him. You know that. I told you and ..."

"And you think attacking me when I'm in a hospital bed is really gonna make you seem like some great hero?" Chris looked up, scorn clear in his tone. "Put it away before you make yourself seem like an idiot, Potter, and just have a moment of sanity, and trying that thinking Granger keeps suggesting to you. I'm a member of the Order because I'm a double agent, you idiot." Harry blinked, and looked at his hand, as though he hadn't realised what he was doing. The hand jerked back, the wand falling harmlessly on to the bed.

"But I thought that was Snape's role?" Harry asked, his tone making it clear that he didn't entirely trust Chris. "He's got the Dark Mark..." Harry's voice trailed off, as Chris fixed him with a incredibly pissed off look. Right. Think. Chris said he was a double agent, but Malfoy said that he was Lord Christopher, seen as over and above Voldemort. Okay, why would that be? Well, he was a Halliwell, a witch of the Warren line, and Hermione had showed him one of the many books that chronicled that family and she pointed out how every generation grew in power. Chris' mother was the eldest of the Charmed Ones, Wyatt was meant to be the most powerful magical being alive, which would make Chris the sec... "Oh," Harry said after a few minutes.

"You worked it out then?" Chris rolled his eyes. "Do, me a favour, pour me some water," he gestured at the jar on the table at the foot of the bed. "Still having some directional issues," he admitted. "Seriously, Potter, you can be a stone cold idiot at times," he commented lightly. Harry handed over the plastic cup of water, rolling his eyes lightly.

"I... didn't think it all the way through, okay?" Harry said slowly. Chris looked up at him slightly. "Malfoy was  _so_ convinced, and you keep disappearing for long periods of time... it's hard not to see that evidence and assume the worst," he said,shrugging lightly. He sighed heavily, and sat on the end of the bed. "I know Malfoy's up to something, but Ron and Hermione won't listen. They think I'm being overly paranoid." He draw patterns with his finger on the sheet, distracted. "I just, I've never been so  _sure_ of anything, and they won't listen."

"Maybe they've got a point," Chris said,running his fingers down the side of the cup. "Malfoy's bottom of the rung in the hierarchy over there. He's too young to join without a parent's permission, and Narcissa isn't the type of mother who'll let her son sign up for suicide missions until he's at  _least_  graduated from high school," he gave a small shrug. "There's no doubting that Malfoy's a foul little water rat, but he's not Death Eater material, at least, not to be up to anything major here."

Harry sighed. He supposed Chris did know more than he did – though he was still suspect about that whole situation – but something about Malfoy just felt wrong. He couldn't put a finger on it, but he just knew Malfoy was up to something. All he needed to do was prove it. And maybe find out some more about this 'Source' while he was at it. "Yeah... I should go, let you get some rest."

"Everyone's telling me to get rest. I slept for two weeks, I'm over-rested." Chris said, but handed the cup back to Harry and placed his had back on the pillow. "Don't go doing anything stupid, Potter. I've done my annual hero gig, ain't gonna run to save your ass," he muttered, sounding more tired than he did a moment previously. Harry gave a chuckle.

"Yeah, got it Chris. Try that rest thing, alright?" Chris smirked.

"If you shut up and piss off, my trying will become succeeding."

 **xXx**

**  
**

  


  



	15. Chapter 15

  


The Quidditch season started not long after Chris was released from Madame Pomfrey's care. Wyatt spent most of his time in training, and often forced Chris to come and sit in the stands during the practices. With Katie Bell still being in St. Mungo's – the only reason Chris hadn't been transferred there was because Wyatt had made it perfectly clear what he would do if they dared remove him from the school, and no Chris wasn't sure how he got away with that – the team was down one fully trained Chaser. Harry had roped Dean in, and switched Wyatt to playing Beater – as he confided to Chris that Wyatt may not be the best flyer of them all, but he had an accurate aim, and a good swing with the Beater bats. Course, Harry then tried to convince Chris to be their reserve Chaser, but the still healing shoulder injury put that to rest pretty quickly.

Still, putting him in the Beater role had allowed Wyatt a new outlet for his frustrations. News about minions being completely stupid? Just go and attack those damn Bludgers. Chris had to approve; it was like a subtle form of anger management for the sports-people of the wizarding world. Of course, Chris had to watch out, every so often Wyatt would just fling the bat at one of the players if they annoyed him. Often it was Ron, whose nerves always seemed to get the better of him. Pity, from what Chris could tell he had the makings of the great player. Of course, this always brought him back to an important point: he knew nothing about this damn game.

The morning of the match was interesting in the Great Hall. Chris sat with the usual group at his House table, excluding Nott was reasoned that since the the match was against Slytherin he couldn't be seen to support their opponent in anyway. They were also joined by Hermione, who had grown thoroughly fed up of Ron's snappish behaviour to her in the lead up to the game. The table was a solid mass of red and gold – Chris included, as Craig had managed to force him into the house colours and there was no power on this Earth that would have Chris telling the rest of that story – when the team all appeared, Harry leading them. Ron looked to be a nervous wreck. "Cheer up, Ron, I know you'll be brilliant!" Lavender called over to him, in that slightly breathy 'fan' tone. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You would say that, wouldn't you?" she muttered, semi-viciously under her breath. Chris raised his an eyebrow, and moved in, pulling back some hair gently, and hovering at her ear to whisper.

"Is that contempt I hear from you Beautiful?" He smirked lightly, catching sight of Ron's vaguely furious look halfway up the table. Hermione's face had turned a light shade of pink. "My, but you do flush prettily when you're embarrassed," he stroked her cheek with a finger, before giving it a quick kiss. "It's very becoming," he told her, leaning back up. Luna gave him a look, clearly amused with his behaviour, but not pleased that he was pulling it on her friend.

"I should go see Harry," Hermione gabbled quickly, pushing her seat out and scampering away. Chris watched as she went up, giving Ron a mock salute when he noticed the other boy still glaring at him. Craig looked up, then to Chris.

"He probably wants to kill you for that," he remarked causally, reaching over to grab a bread roll from the basket. "Everyone knows he's fancies Hermione. Have done since third year. You should have seen it when she was dating Victor Krum." Chris gave a shrug of his own, watching Wyatt carefully as he interacted with his team-mates. So far, no maiming, but it was only morning. A lot could happen before the day was out.

"If Weasel likes Beautiful, then he should do something about it," he replied, then paused. "And who's Victor Krum?"

"An internationally famous Quidditch player," Luperca cut in, giving Craig a look. "And they weren't dating. Oh, he liked her but you know Hermione, she was embarrassed at all the attention," she said, giving a small eye roll. "Lavender fancies Ron though, she's been telling Parvati about it since the start of term." She gave a small shrug, biting into her toast. When he mouth was empty she continued. "She was saying last night she might do something about it today, since it doesn't look like Hermione's going to do anything. Depends on the match, really." Chris and Craig exchanged looks. It was amazing the gossip that came from the girls dorm. Luna looked up from her cereal.

"Ron's funny, but he does say hurtful things sometimes," she commented, stirring the spoon around the bowl. "But Hermione can do that too... I think they'd be nice together," she said. This caused another exchange of looks between Craig and Chris. "And you can stop with those looks, I just want my friends to be happy, that's all."

"And that's all well and nice, Lunar, but it ain't the mission of today," Chris smiled. "No, today's mission is for the Lions to trample the Snakes. At least I think it is. I've never been good at sports."

 **xXx**

Chris trudged out to the stands with his minions and Luna, taking a seat amongst a crowd of his adoring fans. And for once, he wasn't being obnoxious when he said that. His small fan group had expanded rapidly since the attack by the Snake Demons. He had to admit, it was fun having people hanging on your every word and who would do anything you asked. Sort of like his minions, only with less back-chat. "Okay, minions, explain the game to me," he said, looking around before the game started. "I see... 14 people riding brooms most of which are chasing balls, and leaving aside the fact that Freud would have a field day, that's all I know."

"I don't really know," Luna said in her usual dreamy tone, watching the brooms above her. The teams were doing a brief warm up lap before the game started properly. "I just find it nice how everyone tries to get along for their team. On a match day, you're one of the team," she smiled at Chris. "It's why you had to wear the colours." She turned back to look at the game. Chris frowned just a little – he really needed to go scare the fear of him into those asshole Ravenclaws, 'cause no way in any part of the Underworld was anyone allowed to pick on his Luna. He turned to the other two, who kept giving his whitelighter side a little bit of trouble since finding out that they weren't actually  _real_ , and gave an expectant look.

"Well, first off you've got three different kinds of balls," Luperca began explaining, watching carefully for the start of the match. "The big red one's the Quaffle, and the Chasers go for that one, a goal with it being worth about 10 points," she pointed to the ball which looked a bit like a soccer ball to Chris. "Then you've got the two smaller bludgers – those little black ones – and the Beater's job is to make sure those don't hit any of their team-mates." Chris nodded. He recognised those ones from practice sessions – Wyatt had hit a couple his way a few times. "The most important ball in the game is the one getting released right now, that's the Snitch. It's worth 150 points and can win the game for a team," she leant forward, eyes fixed on the Snitch.

"It's the Seeker's job – Harry's position – to hunt down the Snitch," Craig added. "The game doesn't end till the Snitch is caught, but this isn't a professional league game," he said, "the charm on the Snitch will allow it to be caught within the day." Craig then pointed out the Slytherin Chaser. "As long as he catches it before him, we're good. Gryffindor's got a good chance in this match. Harry's probably the best Seeker in the school, I mean, he made the House Team properly in his first year, and that hasn't been done since Charlie Weasley."

"Bully for Ron," Chris muttered slightly. "Okay, think I've got it, thanks minions, continue your watching," he dismissed them with a wave of his hand. He watched as Harry shook hands with the Slytherin captain – one of those rare ones Chris didn't recognise as well. Huh, that was at least one more on his list in that House who wasn't from a Death Eater family, had to be at least a quarter of the House by now. The whistle blew and the team kicked off from the ground hard, Wyatt staying at a mid-level, the best to stop the Bludgers before they got near any of his team.

"Well, there they go and I think we're all surprised to see the team that Potter's put together this year. Many thought that given Ronald Weasley's patchy performance as Keeper last year, that he might be off the team but of course, a close personal friendship with the Captain does help," Chris looked over at the commentators box, wondering who the hell was trying his luck. Granted his comments were met with applause from the Slytherin stands, but still... talking out against the great Harry P? Most people didn't want to see to risk it this year. "And of course, Potter recruited the eldest Halliwell, so called Twice-Blessed. Did we get a power count from him? Is that even allowed, going by the rules. Not that Gryffindor House ever does... Where did you come from?" Zacharias Smith spluttered, on seeing Chris reappear in a shower of orbs in the commentator box.

"Just thought I'd come even up this commentary. You did take pot-shots at my big brother, after all," Chris smirked, taking the mic off him, and looking to the pitch. "Hey there people, Chris the awesome here and IO', taking over this commentary. It needs some life, not this guy's boring drone. Anyway, some dude in the green and silver is taking his oversized ball to the tiny little hole..."

"It's Urquhart streaking down the pitch..."

"Streaking? You mean he's naked now?" Chris managed to sound perfectly scandalised.

"Halliwell!" McGonagall's voice came up, clear and strong and strict. "None of that coarseness!" Chris looked over at her, and waved a greeting, before grinning and holding out his arms in a gesture of compliance.

"Minnie! Yo, Minnie, we gotta check these rules if players can be naked on their brooms. That is all kinds of wrong," he looked back out to the pitch. "And Ronbert Weasel saved the Gryffindor hole's innocence! No big red ball squeezing it's way through there." The crowd laughed. Zacharias looked annoyed.

"Well, he's bound to get lucky sometimes, I suppose..." Chris laughed into the mic.

"Get lucky? Wow, you Brits really got a weird turn of phrase. I didn't know he was broom-sexual, but hey, that's the wizarding world for you-"

"HALLIWELL!"

"Kidding, Minnie, just kidding. Ron is as red-blooded as the next male." He paused, considering this. "Actually, probably a little more red blooded if the red-hair is any indication." There was more laughter from the crowd, and jeers from the Slytherin stands. Chris stood quickly, mic still kept away from Zacharias, who was waiting anxiously for McGonagall to conjure a new one. "Hey, big up to the Snakes, people, just because they're all naturally cold-blooded, doesn't mean they can't ride wood." The crowd exploded in laughter. Chris grinned.

"HALLIWELL!" McGonagall looked furious. So did Snape. Flitwick looked like he was trying not to laugh, and Cole has just given up. "Professor Turner, I would thank you not to encourage him!" McGonagall snapped at Cole, her anger at Chris getting the better of her. Cole looked over and shrugged. Chris' commentary continued, Zacharias occasionally dropping in to give a more factual version. The two played off each other quite well, if you had to ask Cole about it all.

"I think the students are giving him all the encouragement he needs, Minerva," he pointed out. It was true, there was even laughter coming from the Slytherin stands now. Well, it helped Chris was taking shots at his own House team as well as theirs. "He's a good kid, he'll know when he's gone too far.. Just... try to relax. I'll step in if he goes too far." Which is how Chris got away with his own take on commentary for the match

"Of course, Coote isn't really the usual build for a Beater, they've generally got a bit more muscle-" Zacharias said loftily.

"You callin' my brother fat?" Chris looked shocked then turned to the pitch. "Hey! Wyatt! Smith here think you're fat! Told you you were eating too many of the chocolate desserts," he crowd, then ducked quickly as Wyatt aimed a bludger his way, anger on his face. There was a sharp intake of breath from those who noticed, but Chris jumping back up and forcing a laugh made them think it was just part of how the brothers interacted – after all, the majority of the crowd had been at school with the Weasley twins for a great number of years and they routinely did similar dangerous stunts. It was just a brotherly prank that's all.

Not even Zacharias noticed the briefly terrified look on Chris' face.

The match went well for Gryffindor, Ron managing to save anything that came his way with the greatest of ease, leading to him pretending to conduct the crowd when they burst into a chorus of  _Weasley is Our King_  – a song which Chris made up dirty lyrics for that had McGonagall dragging him out of the commentators box by his ear. Loud crowd complaints lead to him being allowed back in fairly shortly after, and his ear looked very red, and he was a little more careful from that point on.

"And I think Harper of Slytherin's seen the Snitch! Yes, he's certainly seen something Potter hasn't!" Zacharias said through his mic, standing up in the excitement. Chris rolled his eyes.

"Though considering that Wonder Boy doesn't have 20-20 vision, that could mean a hell of a lot," he drawled, but looked out at the match. He frowned. "Hang on. Looks like Harper is being..." Chris stopped for a minute, watching as Harry sped by dropping down then pulling up triumphantly, the golden, twitching Snitch held victoriously in his hand. The crowd went wild. "Well, what d'ya know, Gryffindor win."

 **xXx**

The party after the match was glorious, even if Chris did miss the beginning of it due to Pomfrey fretting over his possibly being re-injured when Ginny flew her broom straight into the commentators box. Course, he hadn't even got a scrape on his, having orbed as soon as he saw her headed that way, but Pomfrey wasn't really in the mood for listening. The important point here was that the party was in full swing when Chris got to it. No Harry yet, but he was team Captain, he obviously had some sort of work to do post-game that the other players didn't. Wyatt had set himself up in a corner, a pretty girl on each arm, regaling them with some slightly embellished story about demon-hunting – since they seemed to find those types of stories so romantic.

He couldn't see his minions, and he was opting to go and find Luna when his gaze fell upon a corner of the room. In full view of the room room, Ron Weasley stood wrapped incredibly closely around Lavender Brown. Seriously, Chris couldn't tell whose hands were whose, and it really looked like Ron was trying to eat Lavender's face. "Guess minion number 1 was right then," he muttered softly, looking around. He couldn't see Hermione anywhere. He looked back at Ron and shook his head, before closing his eyes, trying to see if he could sense where Hermione was.

When he opened his eyes again, he was in a completely different room. "Hey, didn't think that would work. Chalk one up for me," he said, in pleasant surprise. He turned, and looked. They were in an unlocked classroom, and Hermione was sitting on the teacher's desk, a small ring of twittering yellow birds circling her head. "Good spell work, Beautiful, they're very Looney Tunes," he commented lightly, closing the door he appeared in front of and walking up; perching himself on the desk beside her.

"I was just practising," she replied in a brittle voice. "Good match, wasn't it? Wyatt played really well for his first time," she said, fidgeting with her wand. "And the whole team did brilliantly, it really was good for Harry to have the first match under his Captaincy be a win for them. Even your commentary was good, though a little crude." Chris gave a snort, but let her ramble. It was easier. She fidgeted with the wand for a few minutes more, before placing it on the desk beside her. "Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations," she said finally, in an unusually hitch-pitched voice.

"Don't think much of his technique," Chris said, placing his hands behind him and leaning back slightly. "Plus, Lavender? Really? Nothing against the girl but if there's a brain cell in there that hasn't died a lonely death I'd be surprised." That drew a small laugh from Hermione, which Chris considered to be a success. "She's okay if you don't mind mind that incessant giggling she comes out with, but it really starts to grate after, what, two minutes?"

"Chris, be nice," Hermione said softly. "Lavender is smarter than she let's on, she's just... she prefers fashion to learning," she explained, picking at the sleeve of her plain cardigan. "She's sweet, really, a little bit clueless at times, but she's got the Gryffindor streak in her," there was silence. She pulled the cardigan sleeve over her hand. "Plus, you can't deny she's pretty," her voice had an odd pitch on that. Ah. So that was the issue.

"Beautiful..."

"Why do you keep calling me that?" Hermione's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing at Chris. "It's cruel, really. I'm going through this traditional period of teenage self-doubt and low self-esteem in my body image, and you come along and call me..."

"Beautiful," Chris cut in. "Because that's how I see you." Oh well, that shut her up. Chris gave a shrug. "You're not ugly, Hermione, in fact you're pretty damn cute, Especially when you start concentrating on a book, you get this cute little wrinkle right here," he tapped the spot between her eyes. "Lotta different versions of beauty out there, you just happen to hit a lot of mine," he smirked, and nudged her shoulder with his. "I kinda have a thing for brunettes." Hermione gave a laugh.

"You are... very hard to read, Chris Halliwell," she said, but she was smiling. "And thanks."

"What for?" Chris looked confused.

"That's the first time you've called me by my name."

"Oh." Chris blinked. He hadn't realised that. "Well, forgive me if I stick with Beautiful, it fits you better."

 **xXx**

When he saw Ron and Lavender in the common room, Harry's first instinct was to go looking for Hermione. Everyone knew that there was  _something_  between Ron and Hermione and though Harry sincerely didn't want to have to be caught in the middle between his two friends, Hermione was like his sister. He couldn't just leave her alone while Ron was being a pillock. He had searched all over the common room, asking some of the girls going up to check in the dorm for him. She wasn't anywhere in Gryffindor Tower, and he couldn't lie and say that didn't make him a little worried.

When he came to he first unlocked classroom nearest the Tower he opened the door, and looked in. And then promptly pulled hi head out and shut the door again quickly. To Harry's horror, Ron and Lavender appeared in the corridor, laughing hand in hand. "Hi, Harry, wondered where you'd got to!" Ron grinned on seeing his friend. "Mind... moving?" he asked, gesturing to the door behind him. Lavender let out a loud giggle, swaying and coming in to lean on Ron's shoulder, beaming all the while.

"Hi Harry!"she giggled.

"Hi Lavender," Harry shot back quickly, then turned to Ron. "This room? No, you … don't want to go into this room. Try down the corridor a little bit more," he gestured to one of the further off rooms. Ron laughed, thinking Harry was joking.

"Mate, this is one of the few rooms McGonagall doesn't check. Don't worry, I'll clear off before your date arrives" he said, grinning and pushing Harry gently to the side and putting his hand on the door handle. He opened the door and stepped in, pulling Lavender along behind him. Harry closed his eyes, before opening them instantly afterwards, ducking in behind Ron and Lavender. Ron had stopped dead right in front of the door, staring at the sight at the front of the room.

Chris Halliwell certainly didn't seem like he was trying to eat Hermione Granger's face.

  



	16. Chapter 16

  


" _Did you hear? About Hermione Granger and Chris Halliwell?"_

" _...Ron Weasley threw a punch at him..."_

" _...Having sex on a teacher's table..."_

" _... he's using her..."_

" _...he's using her..."_

" _... got to be him using her, he doesn't even like this place, does he?"_

" _Poor Hermione. He's such a jerk"_

" _Poor Hermione. She probably doesn't even know."_

" _Poor Hermione. Like Halliwell actually_ _likes_ _anyone._ _"_

 **xXx**

"I don't see what the big deal is," Chris said, throwing a textbook over his shoulder after his flip through had showed him nothing of value. "I like her, she likes me, we kissed, that's pretty much all there is to the story. Has anyone seen a kind of old looking book? Latin script on the front, picture of a grotesque looking demon under it...?" he asked, looking round. None of the boys answered, in fact Harry looked angry, Wyatt looked amused, and Craig looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. "Seriously, anyone seen that book?"

"So are you dating now or what" Harry cut in angrily. "Because you don't get to just use her like she's a potion ingredient," he snapped, standing a moving in trying to strike an imposing figure. Wyatt laughed, and Chris rolled his eyes.

"Harry, maybe you should-" Craig tried to cut in, to calm any tensions before they arose, but Chris spoke over him.

"Wonder Boy, get your facts right," he said, standing and looking annoyed. He'd need to go to the library, he couldn't find that book anywhere, and he needed to look at a chapter in it to finish off an experimental potion he was working on. A confused look crossed Harry's face, and he frowned over at Chris.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, that it wasn't me using her, and you really should have checked before you started to make these shitty accusations, alright?" Chris snapped, storming out of the dorm, desperate to get away. He was halfway down the stairs when he heard heavy footsteps behind him. "And you can shut up before you get started, Wy," Chris said. "Frankly, I don't wanna hear any of it." Wyatt's laugh was slightly mocking, and Chris felt a strong desire to turn round and punch him in the mouth.

"Oh dear, little brother, yet another crush who prefers someone other than you," Wyatt smirked. "Was she your first kiss? I mean, you never did get far with dear Sidney before she saw the light." He was trying to bait him, that was all, just trying to to bait him. Chris knew he shouldn't rise to it. "And the blonde girl, Luna is it? Doesn't she prefer the green eyed black haired  _ **genuine**_  hero type, or is it the silver-haired snake type she goes for? What could you be thinking, dear Chris, to chose to fall for such a mad little girl?"

"Don't call her mad," Chris glared. Wyatt's smirk grew.

"And still you protect them," he gave a scoff, and shook his head. "You're cursed brother, we both know it. Never to fall in love so long as you try to keep up this act. This school grows... boring." Chris stared.

"I thought you were enjoying it really, being a Quidditch hero an' all, the sensitive older brother of that little shit who does the crazy-ass stuff?" he questioned lightly. Wyatt gave a very scornful look, looking up at the stone walls of the Tower with apparent distaste.

"I may enjoy their sports, and have found it a safe place for you while recovering, make no mistake, Christopher, I detest this school and would as soon as burn it to the ground if it wasn't for that old fool who runs it," Wyatt leant back against the wall; looking thoughtful. "He is powerful, not as powerful as you or I, obviously, but huge untapped potential." There was a silence between the two brothers, and it could be considered almost companionable if it wasn't clear that Wyatt was plotting a way to take down Dumbledore that didn't involve relying on any of Thomas' plans, and Chris was plotting a way to stop his brother's plans. "Why do you need this book anyway? Since why does Christopher Halliwell need a book to tell him how to make a potion?"

"Since he realised he has no idea what was in the venom that killed him," Chris shot back. Wyatt's smug look fell, and he looked at Chris, placing a hand on one of his shoulders.

"The bite? It still bothers you?"

"Poppy didn't have the right medication, bro," Chris said simply. "I'm just trying to make a better potion to stop the twinges." Wyatt nodded and lifted his hand.

"Then do. I cannot have you having such an exploitable weakness," he said, turning on his heel and returning to the dorm. Chris bit back the foul expressions that came to his mind. Exploitable weakness, yeah right. Like Wyatt didn't know every single button he could press to get the right reaction from Chris. It wasn't like, oh, he had promoted him above the evil snake dude with more power than him. Possibly. Probably. Okay, so he wasn't entirely sure who had more power between him and Tommy, but he really was not planning to ever put himself in a situation where he had to find out. Shaking his head, he opted to walk to the library, enjoying the wide breath people would give him in the corridor – mostly from awe, he'd prefer from fear but awe was alright he supposed. When he got to the library, he nodded at Pince at her desk, and made his way towards the back shelves. The demonology section at Hogwarts left a lot to be desired, but he would have to make do.

"Hello, Chris." Chris stopped mid-stride, and looked to his side. Of course Hermione would be in the library with a book open in front of her. Actually... Chris frowned down at the book.

"I've been looking for that," he said. Hermione gave a nervous smile.

"I borrowed it, I'm working on a project and I needed some information in this," she paused, and looked at him. "Your brother said it would be okay, I'm almost done with it." She scribbled down a few more notes on the parchment in front of her, the quill making the usual scratchy noises. "I, um, I wanted to talk to you about that whole... kissing thing," Chris froze just slightly, and hid it by crossing his arms over his chest and giving a look a boredom.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"It's just, well, I feel bad about... well I think you call it 'blowing you off' like that," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I was being silly and I let my emotions get the better of me and it's really not that I don't like you, I do, it's just..." she paused, looking up at him with an apologetic smile. "I just, I really like someone else." She looked at Chris expectantly, obviously hoping that she hadn't hurt him. He hated it when Wyatt was right, even if he already knew it.

Chris smirked. "Ain't no big thing, Beautiful, I got to piss off the Weasel, and I got a great kiss, I'm good. Can I get my book back?" Hermione looked at her notes, and then nodded, handing the heavy tome over to Chris. She still looked anxious.

"You don't... hate me, do you?" Chris gave a small smile and replied in an unreadable tone.

"Never liked you much to begin with, Beautiful."

 **xXx**

  



	17. Chapter 17

  


" _So tomorrow's the big day! 17! Good thing we're doing this toni... are you okay?" Merlin's voice broke through whatever thought Chris has locked himself in, and the young witch looked up. Merlin – still in his younger appearance – was looking at him with concern._

" _What? Yeah, I'm fine."_

" _Only you look -"_

" _I'm fine, Emrys," Chris sighed. Merlin rolled his eyes. "Can we just get on with this already? You've been invading my dreams for the past couple of months and I'll be glad to get back to a REM cycle that doesn't involve a visit from the wizards first port of call when wanting to swear." Chris stood, shaking himself, before standing dead still. "Right, I'm ready." Merlin smiled, and nodded his head. Chris closed his eyes and stood waiting. For about five minutes, nothing happened. Chris opened his eyes. "...Pretty sure I said I was ready, Emrys."_

 _Merlin gave a look. "Chris, I did it five minutes ago." Chris blinked._

" _I don't feel any different."_

" _Did you expect to?"_

" _Well, sort of yeah," Chris admitted with a small shrug. "Thought I'd be all powerful, y'know, 'cause I'm meant to be … well you." Merlin rolled his eyes._

" _Yes, because MORE power is really going to sort out the problems in this world." He sighed. "You'll know what I've given you when you need it most. And, do me a favour, be careful, okay?" Chris gave a look, and Merlin gave a shrug. "Hey, I only get small glimpses, nothing make sense to me till it happens."_

 **xXx**

On the morning of the 9th November, every boy in the Gryffindor common bar the Halliwell brothers rose and left early, not wanting to deal with Chris. They could remember the year before, and Chris had damn near torched them all when Ron had made a joke about his Mum's sending him Fred's socks... Yeah, they didn't understand why Chris had reacted so badly, but wizards did have an instinct knowledge of when a day was going to be a  _bad_  day, and they knew that 9th November was one of them. Wyatt had woken with them, but had remained in the room after he dressed, waiting for his brother to wake. The hellhound -Wyatt refused to call it by that ridiculously stupid name Chris had given it - stared at him balefully from his spot on the end of Chris' bed. It was a look of distrust, a look that said ' _I don't trust you, and if you hurt this boy I will bite you._ ' Wyatt was beginning to regret sending Chris the damned thing.

"Stupid thing … My hurting him won't do anything today," he muttered, looking at it, before turning to glare out of the window, "he'll be too busy hurting himself. Idiot that he is." If Chris had been awake at that moment, he might had suspected that there was a tinge of pain in his brother's tone. Wyatt would deny it, of course, but since he denied nearly everything put to him, it was very hard to tell when he was being sincere. There was at least ten minutes of silence before the noise of rustling came from Chris' bed, the soft groan as he realised what day it was. Wyatt stood up, and pulled on the sleeve of his suit jacket – he had decided to forego the traditional uniform in favour of a sombre black suit, the uniform was far too bright for today – and looked over. "Get up. We're going to eat breakfast, and then we'll go to class." There was a pause, before Chris responded in a tone that was trying to be filled with his usual scorn

"I don't wan-"

"I don't care what you want to do, Christopher," Wyatt cut in, ever the commanding presence. "You will dress yourself, and then join us for breakfast. I'll give you privacy, but you'll notice I've taken the liberty to remove anything that would give you … erroneous ideas." There was the sound of footfalls at Wyatt left the room. Chris slowly sat up, and looked down at Dog. Dog looked up at his Master, then moved up to lay on his lap slightly. A good dog – a good hellhound – knows when his Master needs someone to listen, and if there was one thing Dog was particularly good at, it was listening.

"...I hate this day," Chris said, before falling silent again. After a few minutes, he swung himself out of the bed and went to change – black, of course, why the hell did today always dare to be so bright. It was about quarter of an hour later that he made his way into the common room, looking at the floor. Wyatt was sitting in the comfy chair nearest the fireplace, and stood quickly on Chris' arrival. He looked at him for a moment, apparently judging what he was wearing. Whatever, Chris didn't care. "Today is not a good day, Wy, and if you fuckin' start I swear, Tommy be damned, I'll rip your head off."

"...Let's go get breakfast, shall we?"

 **xXx**

The minions had proven themselves useful once again by managing to grab a space at the end of the Ravenclaw table for all of them, and having a large cup of coffee ready for Chris when he sat down. Luna smiled up at him softly, handing over a brightly decorated envelope, before turning back to her breakfast porridge without a single word. Chris opened the envelope, to find a hand-made card. The front had a clever comic sketch of scowling angel – he assumed this was meant to be him – being drawn into a dance by a little elf girl – who was very obviously his Lunar. "Thanks, Moon Child," he said softly, making a start on the large cup of coffee. The mail came, in its usual way, and Chris found himself laden with a small but thick pile of rather official looking parchments. He blinked, and looked up. "Anyone who feels up to explaining, please speak know or … nah, don't hold your peace, it ain't healthy." he said, poking at the top roll of parchment with a wary finger. Nott picked it up, breaking through the seal and reading.

"So, you're 17 today then?" he said, not waiting on a confirmation. "This one is to tell you about the contribution Melinda Warren made to certain establishments and how – as her only legally alive descendant," he nodded to Wyatt, "you are the sole inheritor of the estate that her work has gathered. The rest, I expect, are likely to be marriage contracts from older families, trying to... what is that saying you Yanks use? Get a piece of the Halliwell pie?" Nott smirked, looking amused by this turn of events. Chris looked from the pile, up to Nott, to Wyatt, back to the pile, and then finally back to Nott.

"You have got to be shitting me." At that, they all seemed to pick up a parchment, opening to read through. All in all, there were 18 marriage contracts – most of which were from girls in his year, though a few were from the year below, and the year above. Chris stared at them in horror. "Dude, this is  _sick_ ," he said, pushing them away from him as though continued close contact would cause them to attach themselves to him until he answered one of them.

"It's a bit outdated, but Daddy says the practice is still popular in certain circles," Luna said in a dreamy tone. "His and Mummy's marriage was by marriage contract... though they were a bit older than usual," she added, thoughtfully. "And Grandfather said the contract was created at their bidding, Daddy said Mummy was rather old-fashioned in her beliefs." she tacked on, looking vaguely thoughtful towards the end. Craig gave a nod, he had heard of this happening before, though Luperca gave a dismissive snort.

"Makes a change from the girl not getting a choice in the matter," she start, glaring at the parchments with a tinge of hatred. Nott had the good graces to look offended.

"You got a choice!"

"Yes, but I was  _4_  and was told that if I said yes, I would get an extra piece of cake after dinner," she rolled her eyes. Chris gave the pair of them a Look, and she rolled her eyes, speaking once more to Nott. "You'd better explain this to him, he doesn't understand."

Nott sighed. "Yes, dear." He turned back to Chris. "You're pretty much eligible bachelor number two as far as most higher families are concerned – Potter  _would_  be the better match in theory, but he's too much of a risk factor for some of the stricter of the families," he explained. "And, well, you're of the  _Warren line_. Even those who detest the way America has really forsaken traditional magical practices won't deny that the chance to align themselves to the Warren line." Chris took this in with a slow nod, still looking at the parchments as though he expected them to do something entirely horrible in front of him.

"So, my brother is to be auctioned off?" Wyatt scoffed. "Well, whoever said you Brits were charming in your courtship forgot to mention the complete ignorance and stupidity in the magical community." That lead to him receiving many scowls, and Chris pushed himself up from the table. "Chris?" Wyatt questioned, looking over at his brother. He frowned – he looked distinctly paler than he had a moment ago. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine!" Chris said, sighing heavily. "I'm just... not going to classes today. Got better things to do than hang around this shitty place," he held out a hand, and torched the marriage contract documents. "Peace out, bitches." He orbed away. They looked at the charred remains of the documents, and it was Luna who found her voice first.

"He looked like he had the cold. Is he quite well?"

 **xXx**

Exactly what Chris Halliwell did that fateful day was only rumoured, small snatches of true information mixing with large doses of wishful rumours. Apparently he had taken over a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson by knocking Snape out and providing the students with paint balloons. This was partially true, if the pink and purple speckled first years milling about the corridors with huge grins on their faces was anything to go by. Another popular rumour with some truth in it was that he was the one who let off all the fireworks in the dungeons just to piss off Slughorn. Chris did remark that the annoying thing was that Slughorn refused to be annoyed, especially since the fireworks came from a potion of his own creation.

According to rumour, Chris had spent time with the Weird Sisters, helping produce their new album. He had descended into the Underworld, slaying any demon that dared to even think about giving him a shifty look. He infiltrated the Death Eaters and had them convinced that You-Know-Who had changed the uniform to bright pink robes and smiley face masks, the new name being the Legion of the Fabulous. (Wyatt received a hurried message from Sidney begging to know whether or not Chris was suicidal or just plain stupid as really it seemed like both right now.) According to rumour, Chris had stolen Harry's Firebolt and went joy-riding through Hogsmede and he went straight to the Minister of Magic himself and flipped him off, swearing heavily and accusing him of every wrong doing that he could think of. The evening edition of the Daily Prophet went to press with this headline, actually, and no matter how much the Minister denied it, it didn't help that he seemed to have developed a nasty twitch whenever the name "Halliwell" was mentioned around him.

No one knew if the tale that he had visited the Muggle Prime Minister, to see if it was possible to simply "drop a damn bomb on Voldie's head" was true or not. No one was even sure where that particular one had started, but it was one of the more persistent of the rumours. What was known as complete and utter fact, was that Chris had made his way into the Three Broomsticks and, haven proven himself of age, bought as many large bottles of Firewhisky and matured Mead as he could carry.

When the students and the teachers entered the Great Hall for dinner that evening, they found Chris rip-roaring drunk on Firewhisky, standing on the top of the staff table, kicking plates on to the floor. "Christopher Halliwell!" McGonagall called, aware somehow that there was more to this than a simple desire to break the rules. If anything, Chris never needed to be reeking of foul smelling alcohol to break the rules before. "What is the meaning of-"

"Minnie!" Chris crowed, giving off a drunken giggle as he did so. "It's my birthday, my 17th year. Lets have a party, I''l provide the Butterbeer!" he singsonged, throwing his arms wide on the last. The Great Hall was instantly transformed into the type of party venue any 17 year old would be proud to have. The students cheered loudly, swarming past the staff to get into the party, before anyone managed to vanish it all. Wyatt, however, remained where he was, watching his brother with slight concern.

"Halliwell, this drunkenness is a blatant disregard of school rules," Snape remarked dryly. "Ten points from Gryffindor." There was really not point to this – Chris had never once cared about the points system, and the attempt at punishment simply drew another high-pitched round of drunken giggles from him. It must be held as a credit to those who actually spent time around Chris that they were slightly hesitant in their reaching for the party goodies, shooting wary looks to the top tables, as if expecting this to be some elaborate trick.

Chris just giggled, and swallowed down some more of the dark amber liquid that the heavy bottle contained. The staff looked amongst each other, questioning what they should do. Dumbledore was unfortunately unavailable this weekend, and it left dealing with this type of behaviour up to them. While there was a rule against students being drunk on schools grounds – particularly to the worrying extent that Chris was – there was  _technically_  no rule preventing a student from celebrating their birthday, particularly their 17th. Besides which, considering the current climate and the constant flow of bad news coming into the school... perhaps allowing the party to continue wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. They exchanged a look known only to teachers the world over. The look meant: 'I'm not going to try to tell them to stop – are you?'

Wyatt, on the other hand, sighed and stepped forward, looking at his brother. "Chris, that's enough, get down!" he commanded. "You're making a fool of yourself," he added in a low hiss, eyes flashing briefly in his anger.

"No, Wy, I wanna party!" Chris snapped back, slurring his words slightly, stumbling backwards, and sitting on top of the table. He grinned. "Made it to 17 without dying!" he crowd loudly, drawing the attention of many of the student who didn't seem t understand how this was an accomplishment. Of course, it's also highly likely that they were simply deeply amused that Chris seemed to have no concept of volume control when he was drunk. "...'Cept, I didn't," he said, his face falling as he remembered. "Died, didn't I, Wy? Don't remember meeting the Angel of Death, though."

It was one of the rare times the hall was silent. "Chris, enough," Wyatt said, stepping forward to take the heavy bottle from him. Chris pushed his free hand out, sending Wyatt flying back, before cradling the bottle to his chest, clinging to it as though it were his only friend.

"He likes our family, Death," he said, after taking another large swig from the bottle. "Keeping taking them away. Took Mel when was only little... stupid joy-rider." Another large swig, accompanied by a small hiccup. "An' Phoebe when that vampire tore her throat out... 'member how dark the blood was, Wy? 'Member how it sprayed everywhere?" Chris began to rub at his forehead and left eye, almost frantically. "Everywhere... couldn't get if off, it was hot an' sticky, an' dark, an' it  _wouldn't wash off_... Still there, y'know, might not have the stain but c'n still feel it." He hiccuped again, swaying slightly.

Wyatt had gotten to his feet and was painfully aware of how everyone in the hall was hanging on Chris' every word. "Chris, you're drunk," he said, as clearly as he could manage. There was a hot streak of anger coursing inside of Wyatt, that wanted nothing more than to smack Chris on the mouth to make him shut up or bleed. Either would do, the anger wasn't fussy. He looked around, trying to find someone who would help him to drag Chris down from the table, but nearly everyone was transfixed on the drunken boy.

"Least for Paige... he would have been welcome, Death," Chris said, drinking down some more. "After the torture... she always was stubborn," Chris let out a loud sniff, rubbing his nose with his sleeve, before taking another drink. "Victor was a hero when Death came for him," he added loudly. "My 15th birthday, an' he threw himself in front of the demons, bein' all you shall not pass and badass an'... then there's... Mom..." his voice trailed off slightly, and he drained the bottle. Wyatt let out a small sigh of relief, until he saw Chris bring out a brand new bottle. By this time, Cole had stepped forward, McGonagall falling into step beside him.

"Chris, you don't need to say anything," Cole said, reaching forward slowly, hoping to get the bottle from the boy before he noticed what was happening. "Just... come with us, we'll get you a big cup of coffee,"

"NO!" Chris' yell managed to knock Cole back, as a wave of telekinetic energy was released with the emotion behind it. "They all wanna know don't they? Sluggy the Walrus wants to write a book on it!" He waved hiss hand out at the crowd, before giving another drunken laugh, not a giggle this time but something that sounded heart-broken. "Everyone raise a glass, to Piper Halliwell, dead three years today!" The silence grew heavier at these words. Three years  _today_ , but then that would mean... "And it was my fault. All of them. All my fault but …" there was a choking noise, almost like a sob, but it couldn't be a sob because it came from Chris Halliwell and Chris Halliwell never let out noises like a sob. Chris Halliwell made jibes and sneered and mocked everyone who stepped in his path. Chris Halliwell didn't  _cry._

"It was my birthday, my 14th, and we were meant to be going out but Mom found out that I'd been hunting in the Underworld on my own," Chris' words were heavily slurred, but in the deathly silence of the hall, they were understood perfectly. "See, my first charge had been killed when protecting some innocents, an' I wasn't going to let the damn dirty stinkin' things get away with it... but Mom didn't … she said..." he hiccuped loudly, and swallowed down some more alcohol. There was another choked sob-that-couldn't-be-a-sob-but-sounded-remarkably-like-it noise. "So they came to the house and they had these... five-inch long claws and... and they... sliced an' th...they diced an' the blood was everywhere, oh god there was  _so_  much blood..." Chris faltered, and swayed. "An' I called, and called for Leo, but Leo wouldn't come, why would he? All I ever was, was the kid who almost killed his wife by just bein' born!" He was gabbling and the silence in the hall had become sickening.

Chris Halliwell was the Chief Prankster at Hogwarts. Chris Halliwell had taken on a pack of demons and saved so many student. Chris Halliwell had looked Umbridge in the eye and told her to kiss his ass. There was nothing he couldn't do.

And now, the students and staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry could do nothing but watch as slowly in front of them, Chris Halliwell  _broke_.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Original Chapter notes: Hello, and welcome to the first chapter of Stir it Up, the second in the "...it Up" trilogy. I hope that you like this chapter, and if you've joined us from Tear it Up it's great to see you back, and welcome to any newbies. I won't waste any more time here, let's get on with the show!


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